


A Jewel Beneath The Moonlight

by PostApocolypticAlien



Category: The X-Files
Genre: FIC COMPLETED, Gen, I WROTE SMUT, Titanic AU, and i can actually currently do a lot more with scully, anyway the fun bit has begun, but it gets better from here on out, but we have a few more hours left before we get there, cause im sorta tempted to do that, didnt want to make mulder a complete dick to the dog, dont really need the switching povs cause there literally experiencing the same thing, english!mulder, for now, have access to everywhere and youre pretty much good for whats to come, hit me up in the comments, hope its keeping you interested, hope you like it, horrible dinners, i chickened out on the smut, i have nothing to comment on, i havent been here for a while, i hope youre enjoying this fic guys, ill happily respond :), irish!scully, it means the world to me, its still rated m coz fck am i brave enough to write explicit stuff, its the inspiration but certain things are changed, kinda like the 1997 titanic but also only a guideline, mulder was an asshole last chapter, my voice is definitely shown through Mulder and/or Scully, none of the distateful stuff said in this fic is a refelction of me, oh no, pls dont kill me if you figure out the significance of me writing in the funnel falling, so they can be happy, sorry - Freeform, thank you to everyone whos supported this, theres a lot going on right now, third class is where you want to be, this was hard enough, to fit this version, triggerwarning: brief mention of misscarriage, well for a time that is, well until THAT happens, what if from here on out it was just scullys pov, yes that thing that you think just nearly happened just nearly happened
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-18
Updated: 2019-10-26
Packaged: 2020-10-21 10:17:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 36,303
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20691872
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PostApocolypticAlien/pseuds/PostApocolypticAlien
Summary: For Mulder, a wealthy English-bred socialite who's had everything given to him since birth, the Titanic is shipping him off to a prison, a life he no longer wishes for or wants. For Scully, an Irish stranger from the lower class, it offers a new life, a future she can truly envision in America. What if the universe put them on the same path to achieve those dreams at the cost of life?





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> Hi. Welcome. I was going to wait to post this but since it's receiving a really good reception over on Tumblr I thought I'd give it a go here. I wrote this in my head the other night whilst trying to sleep and all day yesterday it wouldn't leave me alone. I'm really enjoying this and essentially have the entire thing mapped out and ready to be written out. I hope you enjoy reading this as much as I have writing it.

A cloud of heavy smoke rises from the four vapers, covering the clear sky above and littering it with stuffy grey puffs. People scramble about down the dock, trying to keep family members together as they rush to get through the gates. Others stand there gawking at the ship. For those not boarding it’s simply a day out; The greatest ship ever built, they call it and those who live nearby wasn’t about to miss out on such a historic day as this.

Mulder stares at it, surprised at just how taken away with it he is. He never put much stock in the rumours when it was being built believing that she was just going to turn out as all those before her had.

But he was wrong. Never in his life had he seen a ship as large as the one that towers over him.

He turns to Phoebe, reaching out for her hand as she climbs out of the cab.

“What do you think, dear?” Mulder asks as he helps his fiancé down. “Are you impressed?”

To no one’s surprise, Phoebe only scoffs at the ship, it’s presence not changing her mood in the slightest.

“It’s not as grand as the Mauretania.”  
Bill Mulder chuckles behind them, handing their luggage to his man-servant, Krychek as the boy passes them onto baggage handler.

“It’s much bigger than the Mauretania,” he says, ready to quote every fact he had memorised from the London Herald about the ship. “And much more luxurious,” he adds.

Phoebe only huffs, clearly becoming uninterested in their current conversation.

“Careful Fox,” his father warns him. “Hard one to please, that one.” Mulder only manages an uncomfortable laugh already well aware at the difficulties that come attached to Phoebe Green.

With time running out, they begin to make their way towards the ship, weaving their way through the crowds, Phoebe turning her nose up at every person not dressed to the nines, going as far as to dramatically balk and cover her nose as a lower-class foreigner runs across their path.

“Filthy immigrant,” Phoebe scorns at the innocent man. Mulder tries not to let his disgust show at Phoebe’s words, they’re excused after all and Mulder rolls his eyes at the clear disrespect his people show towards those less fortunate.

“He’s just trying to get to the ship, Phoebe.”

“Yes, well, maybe he should hurry to a bath instead.”

Mulder ignores her words, instead guiding her through the swarming crowds.

“Honestly Bill,” Mulder’s mother pipes up. “We couldn’t have gotten here earlier rather than scurrying around the docks like rats?”

“I was all packed and ready to go,” Bill says and indicates to the pair in front of him. “It was those two who weren’t.”

Mulder sighs. If anything, it was Phoebe who they had been waiting for.

“We did try to hurry, Mother. Phoebe couldn’t decide what to wear.”

Phoebe scoffs once more. “It’s not my fault that you told me to change.”

“I just thought you would get to warm wearing black all day.”

“I’m in mourning Fox,” Phoebe cries. “The weather doesn’t change that.”

Mulder resists sighing again. Phoebe had been mourning for weeks now. The loss of their baby had brought on this spontaneous trip. Phoebe, done with London and “wanting to get away from all the bad memories” all but demanded that they leave for America as soon as possible. A change for a new start, she told him afterwards. They could get married here and start again. Next thing Mulder knew, he was packing his bag and going back to a country he hadn’t seen since childhood.

He felt trapped somehow, and it had nothing to do with the swarms of crowds. This was inside him. A cage or a hole he’d put himself in. One he wasn’t going to get out of any time soon.

She’s been sitting on this bench for what feels like hours now. The stuffy bar overcrowded with sight-seers only now they’ve done the sight-seeing and want to do some drink-beering. 

She was told ten minutes. Ten minutes and they’d be looking for a ferry to take them back to Ireland. Dana was done with the place. Southampton was the same as everywhere else in England they’d been- the same people, the same scorning looks they’d get no matter where they go, the same rejections. It’s only a number of times a person can hear ‘no’ before they never want to hear the word again.

Her brother, however, had other ideas. They only came into the bar to ask if there were any ferries available to take them home and somehow Charlie had managed to be roped into a game of poker by a bunch of Norwegians who barely spoke any English between them.

The game had currently been going on for a lot longer than the ‘few minutes’ she was promised.

Dana sighs, shifting in her seat to get comfortable. She’d order a drink if Charlie wasn’t currently gambling away their last penny.

“You lonely, luv?” Dana turns towards the speaker. His cockney accent thickened by the slurring of his words. “Ye want sum comp’ny?” 

He stumbles towards her, catching himself on the rickety table and smiles at his clumsiness. Dana attempts to shuffle further back into the bench, failing.

“I’m fine,” she says turning away and hoping the man would take the hint.

But he presses on.

“Are ye sure?”

“Aye. I’m sure.” She gets up before the man can say anything else, and heads over to Charlie’s table.  
The boy is in full concentration mode. Lip caught between his teeth, eyes scanning his cards and the card laying down on the table. He doesn’t know what he’s doing. Countless of times Dana has watched him play, never learning from the mistakes he’s made in previous games. This gambling addiction he’s seemed to have developed has cost them a lot in the finance department, a cost that Dana is not too happy about.

She taps him on the shoulder.

“Charlie, I want to go.” 

“Hold on a second…”

His tongue replacing his lip, Charlie gives one nervous glance around at his fellow players.

“Charlie, we need to go.” She tries not to sound like she’s whining, he’s her younger brother for God’s sake, a child, she shouldn’t have to whine.

Charlie ignores her, a smile breaking out across his face.

“I’m sorry, lads.” He places his cards on the table, his smile turning cocky as he reaches over to take his earnings. Dana doesn’t miss the two pieces of paper lying on top of the money.  
A large hand grasps Charlie’s. His grin falls as he stares in fear at the man.

“He cheat!” The man yells. With his hand still firmly wrapped around Charlie’s arm, he yanks him forward across the table, his other hand a fist that falls down and smashes straight into his face.

“Charlie!” Dana screams as his body falls slump against the oak. The man backs off as the bar grows quiet, ignoring the winnings that fall onto the floor.

With all concern for her brother, Dana rushes to his side, her hand falling on the boy’s face, wiping away the blood that drips down from his wound. You feckin’ idiot…she thinks.

Charlie’s eyes open slowly, despite the pain with smile it back.

“I won, Dana,” he tells her. “We’re going to America.”

Dana frowns, bewildered for the moment at what Charlie could possibly be talking about until her eyes fall to the two pieces of paper that lay on the ground. Realisation sets in and she reaches down to pick them up, turning them over to read.

The words White Star Line stare back at her. She looks from the paper in her hand to the ship outside and back to Charlie.

“You’re…you’re not serious?” she asks, full astonishment.

“Yep. Fecker put his ticket down as payment,” Charlie all but shouts.

Dana stares back at the ticket. She was really about to go to America and board the Titanic to get there.

“You’re gonna wanna be quick,” a fella beside them tells them. He points to his clock on the wall. “Boat leaves in ten minutes.”

At that, Charlie hauls himself off the table as the two siblings begin pushing what money remaining on the table into their only bag, not caring for the coins that had fallen onto the floor.

“Hurry up!” Charlie urges her as Dana ties up the bag. “Come on, come on.” He takes the bag throwing it over his shoulder and grabs his sister’s hand, all but dragging her out of the bar.

They weave their way through the people, Charlie up front and Dana falling slightly behind. She fists her skirt in her palms, pulling it up so as not to trip over it, keeping her eye on Charlie ahead of her and praying she doesn’t lose him.

They almost collide with everything; people, a cart selling vegetables, a horse and carriage until finally they make it, out of breath and clutching at their tickets.  
“Right, give me your tickets,” the crewman orders, his fingers making a grabby motion. They hand them over and the man all but snatches it out of their hands. His nose turns up when he reads the names.

“Leif and Ingrid Brevik?” he asks, sceptically.

Dana looks nervously at Charlie, worried that they had just ran all this way, got excited for a new future, just to be turned away at the doors once more.

“Aye, we’re Americans.” Charlie tells him doing nothing to mask the already thick Irish accent.

The crewman gives once last glance at the ticket and them. Sighing and probably done dealing with steerage who’s English is minimal he accepts the tickets.

“Get in before I change my mind.”

Relieved, the pair rush in just as the crewman shuts the door.

They make their way down the crowded corridor. People stand looking at the various signs that point in directions of rooms, bathrooms, and general gathering areas. They argue, an overload of different words muddled together to make one distorted language.  
Dana isn’t paying attention, however. Her eyes switch from the number written down on the ticket to the numbers written on the doors either side of them. Charlie had gotten distracted, eyeing up every pretty lass that they walked past and Dana had ripped the paper out of his hands. If he wasn’t going to find their room, she will.

She finds it eventually. 23, near the end of the corridor. Charlie eyes up Room 24.

“Reckon a lass lives in there?” he asks.

Dana focuses on unlocking the door, a sly grin appearing on her face.

“I hope it’s a fat old man with a foot infection.” She looks up only to see the look of disgust appear across her brother’s face.

The door opens to their room. A single bunkbed, a desk and chair with a lamp seated upon it, and a chest of drawers are the only furniture that occupy the room.

Charlie shares her sentiments exactly.

“Beats the cargo hold on a ferry.” He throws the bag onto the chair and proceeds to climb to the top bunk.

She stops him before he can claim it.

“Piss off, I get top bunk.” She grips the back of his shirt, yanking him off the ladder.

“Careful!” Charlie cries. “I’m already injured.”

“So move out the way before I injured you even more.”

He does as he’s told, not without pulling a face beforehand, and throws himself on the bottom bunk.

Dana lies down, thankful to be in a bed that actually feels like a bed and not a brick.

“Hey, Dee?” Charlie calls after a moment of silence.

“Yeah?”

“Are you worried?”

Dana thinks for a second, curious as to what Charlie thinks she should be worried about.

“About what?” she asks.  
Silence passes and she waits for an answer.

“Nothing,” the boys says. “It’s nothing. We got nothing to be worried about.”

Frowning and profoundly confused, Dana decides to leave it.

Another bout of silence passes and perhaps Charlie’s fallen asleep, at least she thinks that until she hears his voice again.

“Hey, Dee?” 

“What?”

“Do you still have that first-aid kit in the bag? My face is throbbing.”


	2. Chapter Two

The accommodation is located on B-deck, easy enough to find. Phoebe and Mother get stopped along the way, a conversation proceeds in the middle of the hallway between the two women and some other people Mulder doesn’t care to remember the name of. His father shakes his head leading Mulder away- They’ll come when they’re ready, Bill says as they continue to walk to their rooms.

And the rooms are nice enough; mahogany furniture, floral tapestries covering the couches and chairs. The bedroom is large: a walk-in wardrobe Phoebe should hopefully be happy with. He touches the pillows and his disappointment comes when he finds they are feather. He places it back down.

What’s a bit of lack of sleep for a week?

In the mirror, he catches the reflection of the safe. Spinning, he walks over to it, pulling it open. His hand strokes the inside feeling the cold iron. It’s of decent size, enough room to place valuables. He looks to the carry-on he’d brought on with him, an idea in his head. Reaching into the bag, his fingers gripping hold of the old leather book. Pulling it out, he places it inside the safe. With a bit of manoeuvring he manages to fit it in and be able to lock the safe afterwards.

Few people know about that book, a few more know about his talent that comes with it. Phoebe knew about the talent but not the book. His parents know briefly of his talent but again, not the book. The book is his and while he is in no way ashamed of his drawings- in fact, if you were to turn the first page you’d be met with a very innocent drawing of his sister, however a bit further on and you’ll find the not-so-innocent drawings. It was those he wanted to keep secret.

“Fox!” he hears Phoebe’s clear-cut voice break through the air. Sighing, his moment of peace over, he double-checks that the safe is shut and locked and exits the bedroom to see his dear beloved fiancé and the mutt she holds in a cage.  
Mulder groans.

“Did you really have to bring that thing, Phoebe?”

Phoebe looks at him as though he’s just told her she wouldn’t be eating dinner for a month.

“Of course I had to bring her Fox,” she says in utter disgust. “Did you just expect me to leave him behind?” She takes the Maltese out of its cage, hand it to one of her maids before she holds the animal up. 

“I know you don’t like the cage, sweetie. You can stay out of it from now on.” The dog begins fussing in her arms and Phoebe gasps. “Tuppence needs a potty break,” she hands the dog out to Mulder. “Take her.”

Mulder stares at the hairball currently in his face. “Can’t you take her?” he asks, careful to use the word ‘her’ rather than ‘it’.

“I can’t. I need to unpack.”

“I can do that.”

Phoebe looks at him like he’s grown another head.

“No, you’ll just put things in the wrong place.”

Mulder sighs and accepts his punishment. 

“Alright, where’s the leash?” 

Maybe it shouldn’t come as a surprise that the doggy pooping area is the third class deck but it does. He had looked for an actual area originally but there didn’t seem to be one that existed, he just followed the crowd in a sense and saw another dog doing its business down there.

He lets the dog get on with it, lets it take its time too, maybe it’ll wander too far to the rail and fall off the ship, but Mulder doubts he’s that lucky.

His attention moves away from the dog to the people. A man and his daughter who sits on the rails, her back against his chest, an arm securing her so she doesn’t fall off. The father points to the islands in the distance. Mulder can’t hear the words but he imagines that she’s telling her the names of them, maybe stories about who those people were. Maybe the man knows who the people were. 

A second man, older than the first, sits on a bench with his eyes shut and lets the breeze ruffle what little hair he has.

Mulder’s eyes move to another little girl who kicks a ball over to a red-headed boy. The boy picks the ball up, turning his face to the sky and Mulder watches as he balances the ball on his nose like a sealion in a zoo. The little girl laughs and as does another girl with the same red hair as the boy. Mulder finds himself drawn to it and drawn to the girl, a genuine smile breaking out across his face for what feels like the first time in a long time, his stomach twisting and heart folding in on itself all in a good way as he stares at her. Whatever this feeling is, he likes it.

“How old you do think that boy is?” a voice beside him asks. Mulder startles, never even hearing the man approach. “Fifteen? Sixteen?” Mulder moves his gaze back over to the red haired boy. “When I was fifteen, my father sent me off to boarding school.”

“You envy them?” Mulder asks. Most people he’s met in his life scorn them, question how they could live like that. A change in tune is a nice welcome.

“A little bit. Makes you wonder what experiences he’s had this far.”

The boy turns and Mulder is taken back slightly by the gash on his face. 

“He’s experienced a good punch if that cut is anything to go by,” Mulder laughs. He stretches his arm out towards the man. “I’m Mulder,” he says.  
The name strikes no recognition with a man for which Mulder is absolutely grateful for.

“John Byers.” 

Similarly, the name does strike any recognition for Mulder either. The two shake hands just as the dogs wander over. Mulder opens the gate, attaching the leash back onto Tuppence. 

“I’ll see you at dinner, then?” Byers calls as Mulder makes his way back inside.

“Yes, you will.” 

Dinner turns out to be a dull affair, minus the bit of drama beforehand: Phoebe’s hissy-fit at not “having anything to wear”. Mulder had got back to the room to find that everything had been packed away. The walk-in wardrobe he thought Phoebe would be fine with only has enough room to fit half her clothes into. She’d cried that she wasn’t prepared to live out of her suitcase for a week. Mulder had compromised, given up the small area he’d reserved for his clothes to fit the rest of Phoebe’s. Now his clothes reside in his father’s room. 

All in all, the whole debacle had delayed them by thirty minutes.

Other than that, the dinner itself was a dull affair. Mulder was continuingly zoning out throughout it, his thoughts entirely focused upon the girl on the deck. Who was she? Why couldn’t he think of anything else? Why did he feel what he felt? What did he even feel?

“Fox…Fox…” he swear he hears his Mother saying.

It’s Phoebe’s sigh of annoyance that forces him out of his reverie. 

“He’s doing that thing again, Mother.”

“Fox!” his father barks. Mulder looks to his father, dazed for a moment and fully aware he has no idea what conversation is going on. “Mr Skinner is speaking to you.”

Mulder looks towards the bald man, only now realising that he had joined their table.

“I’m sorry, Mr Skinner,” Mulder apologises. “You were saying?”

“I was just congratulating you and Miss Green on your engagement,” Skinner tells him.

Mulder smiles and reaches for Phoebe’s hand on the table, clasping their fingers together. Not showing anything is amiss, Phoebe smiles.  
“Thank you, Mr Skinner,” Mulder says. He looks to Phoebe then. “My only wish is for this week to hurry so I can soon make Phoebe my wife officially.” 

He brings the hand he holds to his lips then, placing a gentle kiss to the top of it. And Phoebe sincerely smiles at him.

Mulder’s never hated himself more.

Just as they’re finishing their third course does the conversation change once more. Mulder pays no mind to it, he nods when he’s expected to and that is all.

“You’re old friend Bill,” a man from the farther end of the table shouts over. “Spender- is he on the ship, do you know?”

“I saw his son before,” says Phoebe. “He didn’t look too happy.”

“You remember Jeffrey, don’t you, son?” Bill asks Mulder.

“Yes, he was in my Psychology class at Oxford,” Mulder answers simply before going back to his soup.

The man at the end of the table pipes up again. “I never saw the point in educating yourself on those types of subjects. Seems a waste of time.”

“Fox has a special knack for reading people, don’t you?”

Mulder nods. And I can read you people better than you think.

Dessert is on it’s way when the conversation changes once more. The man at the end of the table telling everyone, once again, that he has an opinion to make.

“Would anyone else sleep better knowing we weren’t sharing a boat with steerage?” 

Mulder’s stomach twists.

“Mother and I saw some wandering down our hallway earlier. How they managed to get up there, I have no idea.”

“Maybe they were just lost, Phoebe,” Mulder says as gently as he can, the anger seething beneath.

“Whatever they’re excuse, a crewmember soon shouted at them to leave and off they scurried off.” 

“Like rats in the woodwork, back down to the basement were they belong,” the man at the end of the table gruffly laughs.

“I’m sure they won’t be an issue anymore,” says Father.  
Done with the conversation and dinner all together, Mulder denies dessert as its served.

“I just feel a bit sick,” Mulder says when questioned.

“You might have caught something off the docks earlier,” says Phoebe reaching up to touch his forehead. She looks to the gathering worriedly, “He is burning up.”

Mulder brings her hand away. “I’ll see you later on,” he says and with that he leaves the table, no kiss, no hug, no form of intimacy at all, he just leaves.

The breeze is welcomed from the hot and stuffy dining room. For all their visitors at the table Mulder hoped the man he met earlier- Byers- would have joined them. It would have been nice to know someone thought you same things you thought.

He makes his way to the back of the ship, away from on-lookers and those who would judge him, happy to find the stern empty.

He walks over to the rails, feeling the cold oak between his fingers as he looks out to the darkness around him. His mind drifts back to earlier, to the father and daughter and he finds himself beginning to climb the rails.

His heart is in this throat every step. Mulder never considered himself afraid of much, if he was dared to do something he’d do it but maybe it’s the fact that he’s alone that scares him. Whenever you do a dare there’s always at least another person, someone to catch you if you fall, someone to pull you back when they get too scared but out here it’s only him- only him, the ship, and the sea and if he falls that’s it.

He thinks about how that little girl must have felt. Was she scared at first? Did she refuse to sit on the rail for fear of falling? Was it only when she felt her father behind her, arms around her chest that she felt safe, that she knew she wasn’t going to fall?

“I hope you’re not considering jumping?”

Mulder startles, almost losing his balance in the process. He grips the rails tighter, wondering if this was such a good idea after all.

A nervous laugh falls from his lips.

“I wasn’t until you nearly made me.”

“Sorry,” the woman says. A woman’s voice. “I just saw you climb up there and got a wee bit nervous, that’s all.” 

Mulder twists slightly so he can see the person. As he turns, he almost falls again when he realises who’s standing there.

The red-head from earlier.  
“Maybe you should get down,” she says, face a full display of concern. She edges closer slowly. “It’s a hard long fall if you fall off.” 

She leans against the rails just as he’d done earlier.

“Maybe I like the risk,” Mulder says, a façade of a fearless smile appearing across his face. Really, he was shitting bricks.

“You won’t like the fall,” she says, her voice serious, no hint of the playfulness he’s trying to have. “It’ll be like hitting concrete and if you just so happened to survive that, it won’t take long for the cold to get ye.” 

Mulder looks down into the water directly below him.

“How long we talking?” he asks.

Her answer is quick, ready like she’d been prepared to answer all along.

“Thirty minutes for the hypothermia to kick in, one to two hours before you die.” The facts all out, she turns sombre and concerned once more. “Not exactly a quick death if that’s what you wanted.”

Gaining her point, he begins to twist on the rails, back to the sea as he jumps down.

“There,” he says, dusting himself off. “No harm done.” He looks down at her, realising just how much he towers over her. Phoebe is tall for a woman, almost his height in heels, but this girl…Mulder estimates she not much taller than 5’4.

He stretches out his hand, curious as to why the universe as thrown her in his path for a second time that day and even more curious to know why she knows so much about cold water.

“I’m Mulder.”

She ignores his hand, an eyebrow shooting up. “Mulder? I’m not entitled to a first name?”

Mulder laughs nervously again, throwing his arm to his side. “You don’t want to know it.”

She regards him, as if wondering whether he is worth an interest in or not.

“In that case…” she draws out. “I’m Scully.”


	3. Chapter Three

She extends her hand instead and Mulder gawks at it before his own hand grips hers and they shake. An electric buzz goes through her- one she can’t say she’s ever felt before as she beholds the man in front of her.

She’d seen him before, earlier, near the gate, felt him staring at her and when he wasn’t looking, she’d stares back at him. 

She didn’t believe in fate, it was just coincidence that they would meet again, after all they’re stuck on a ship- a big ship but a ship all the same, they’re paths were bound to cross again and probably again another time.

But that buzz. Dana couldn’t explain it, she didn’t think anyone could. 

They break contact, arms falling back to their sides.

“Scully…” Mulder says, testing her name out on his tongue. It sounded weird to be called by her surname; she was Dana to her family, sometimes Dee to Charlie, and Girl for the family she’d worked for briefly in London, but never was she Scully.

She liked it. And she liked it coming from him.

“I saw you earlier,” she says. “Staring.” 

He looks away, embarrassed. “Sorry.” 

Scully shrugs, smiling slightly. “It’s fine. You get used to it.”

Mulder looks at her shocked. “I wasn’t staring because you’re…you’re…” He struggles to find the words.

“Poor?” Scully offers, not feeling as offended as maybe she should be.  
He shakes his head quickly. “No! Because you’re…”

“Fox!”

Scully turns to find an entourage of people walking towards them. An older Mulder leads the pack as the rest follow.

“I thought you’d gone back to your room?” the older man says.

“I went to get some air, see if that would help,” Mulder explains.

Scully watches the scene unfold in front of her, her eyes flicking back between Mulder and who she can only presume is his father. 

“Well, we’re all heading back now, perhaps you would like to come with us?” It wasn’t a question.

Mulder nods and Scully doesn’t miss the way they outwardly ignore that she’s even there. She’s not naïve to what the upper class, English upper class especially, think of her, of her country and her ‘outlandish’ ways so she stands in silence, gladly to be invisible for this moment.

“Let’s go then,” the father says, reaching for Mulder’s arm.

Scully doesn’t miss the way Mulder tenses for a second then relaxes. She wasn’t always the best at reading people but she can see here that there’s no real relationship, no love, and as she watches the two she realises she has no affiliation with this type of dynamic. She may not of always seen eye-to-eye with her parents, her own father especially the older she got, but there was love there, that was one thing she had a lot of.

She watches Mulder begin to walk off, feeling for him in that moment and maybe he’d felt that sympathy, turning back to look at her, a sad smile across his face.

The next day brings Charlie dragging her down the corridor. He’d made a few friends last night it seems and he seemed anxious for her to meet one of them.

“Charlie, where are we actually going?” she asks, slightly annoyed, she had better things than be dragged down a hallway by Charlie.

“Hugo,” Charlie says turning back to her. “He mentioned last night that his daughter had come down with something and he was worried.”

Scully sighs, rolling her eyes. “So you mentioned me?” she huffs.

Charlie shrugs, stopping as they reach Room 52. “I just said I had a sister who was good at medicine and she might be able to help.” He knocks on the door twice then begins to walk away, Scully notices, catching his arm and pulling him back before he could go any further.

“You’re not gonna stay with me?” 

“You’ll be fine,” Charlie says, taking his arm from her grasp. “Just do what you do.” He walks off then leaving Scully alone in the long corridor.

The door opens and a large man stands in the doorway, towering over Scully.

“You are Charlie’s sister?” the man, who Scully assumes is the Hugo her brother mentioned, asks.

“Aye. Your daughter is sick?”

Hugo nods, stepping out of the way to allow Scully into the small space. 

A girl no older than eight lies in a bed, from where she stands Scully can see the sweat dripping down her face, hear her ragged wee breaths. Dana steps into the room, donning the Doctor Scully persona she’s already made up and walks over to the bed.

She sits in the space near the edge. “Hello. I’m Dana, what’s your name?”  
“Agnes,” the little lass splutters. 

Scully smiles, “That’s a pretty name.” She touches Agnes’ forehead feeling the head radiating off her. Turning to Hugo, she asks, “How long has she been like this?” 

“Three days,” Hugo answers holding up three fingers to indicate.  
“They said they would not let us on ship but we begged and we told them Agnes would get better but she has not.” 

Scully nods, looking back down at the girl.

“Do you know what is wrong with her, Doctor?”

A thrill ripples through Scully to hear be referred to as a doctor. She pushes that thrill aside, however, there’s time to bask in that later.

She moves from the bed to the wash basin in the corner. Grabbing a cloth nearby she runs it underneath the cold water before rinsing it and returning back to Agnes, placing the cloth against her forehead.

She thinks back to the journals, to her own gathered knowledge of caring for Charlie when he was sick. 

“It’s just a fever,” Scully says. “It’ll break soon and I’m sure Agnes will be back to normal.”

Hugo looks as though he’s about to cry. “Thank you,” he says. “Thank you, thank you.” 

Scully smiles, warmth spreading through her. There’s a knock on the door then and Hugo’s sincere expression turns to one of confusion. He turns back to the door, opening it slowly.

On the other side stands Mulder ducking slightly in the short doorway and looking entirely lost.

Scully stands, dumbfounded at why he’s here.

“Mulder?” she asks.

“You know this man?” Hugo asks.

“He’s a friend,” Scully clarifies. “Take Agnes out to the docks as much as you can, the fresh air will do her some good.” Hugo nods as Scully leaves, her hand grasping Mulder’s as she pulls him away from the door.

“What are you doing down here?” she asks now that her attention isn’t divided.  
“I was looking for you,” Mulder says. “Your brother said you were in Room 52 so…” 

In his other hand, she notices he carries a black book. Still holding his hand she guides him along the corridor to the exit.

“Come on, you cannae be seen down here.” 

They pass through the Galley on their way to the deck, many people gawking at Mulder and his fancy clothing on the way out. Scully tries to get him out of there as soon as possible but not missing Charlie’s frowning questioning look as she goes. 

Once outside, she lets go of his hand. 

“You’re a doctor?” Mulder asks, completely surprised.

Scully blushes, trying not to let it show. “Not really,” she admits. “Though I’m trying to be. It’s why we’re here, everywhere else said no so we thought maybe America would be better.” 

It still pains her to remember the looks of disbelief she got when she went into the schools and hospitals asking for a place. Some had looked at her like she was seriously ill, others thought she was joking and some even laughed in her face. She was ready to give it all up, to sail back to Ireland and forget about it all, marry some farmer’s son and have some children, all until Charlie won the tickets.  
“That’s amazing,” says Mulder. They begin they’re walk down the deck to the gate that separates third class from second.

Scully smiles, not quite sure she’d heard the words right, and tucks a piece of her behind her ear.

“It’s worth trying, I suppose.” They pass through the gate, ignoring the incredulous looks the second class passengers give them as they witness the rules be broken so poignantly and a clearly first class passenger conversing with steerage. 

“What’s this?” Wanting to steer the conversation away from her, Scully reaches for the black book in his hand. She gasps as her hand touches real leather, feels the material under her fingers tips. 

“That’s not…”

She opens the first page and is completely taken away by the imagine that stares up at her.

A drawing of a girl between seven and nine stares back at her, her hair in pigtails and the biggest smile on her face as she jumps in the waves. 

Scully stops frozen, staring at the drawing in complete amazement. 

“Mulder…” she says, unbelieving what she sees before her. “Did you…did you draw this?” she asks.

Mulder nods. “I was eleven,” he says, redness forming on his cheeks. “It was the first one I drew.”

“There’s more?” Scully asks, wanting to see more of this beauty. She flips the page- an old man sitting on a bench in the park, flips another page- a girl playing with a skipping rope, a boy playing football. “Mulder, these are…” She flips more pages, finds more drawings, each one increasing in detail. “These are incredible.” 

“Here,” he takes the book from her, sitting down on the bench and Scully follows. “Let me show you my favourite one.” He flips the pages further along, Scully catches glimpses of each piece of art, more and more impressed with his talent. He stops on a page that shows a woman sitting in a restaurant or diner. Mulder hands the book back to Scully and she takes it, staring at the drawing, all it’s intricacies. 

“There was this restaurant in New York that we used to go to all the time and every time we would go there, that woman would always be there.” He points to the clothing. “See how her clothes are all moth eaten? I thought, maybe, something had happened to her husband and she went back to the first place they met, or the first place they had dinner together, and she was just waiting for him to come back. Waiting in that same spot, never moving, as the moths eat her clothes…” 

Scully gazes at the drawing, lulled by Mulder’s voice and story, completely enraptured by all of it. See could see it. See the restaurant, see the woman as though she was real, see the story being true.

“That’s beautiful, Mulder,” she says, turning her head slightly to look at him, her heart filling up with something unexplainable for a stranger she had only met last night.

“Do you have anymore like that?” Before receiving an answer she flicks through more pages. She catches a glimpse of the next set of drawings, and a glimpse is all she needs before Mulder snatches the book away and Scully just Ohs. 

“Sorry,” Mulder apologises, nervously. “You weren’t meant to see them. Nobody’s ever seen them.”

Scully doesn’t care though, she’s interested, having got a small peak at another part of Mulder’s mind, she wants to see it fully.

“Show me,” she says, daring him to.

“Are you sure?” she asks, the book clutched firmly between his fingers.

“I want to see them.”  
Slowly he hands the book back to her. She reopens the page she was on and is met with a full-bodied drawing of a naked woman.

Scully isn’t jealous, she can’t be, Mulder is just a person she barely knows (but also knows everything about) and he’s entitled to his life, to draw who and what she wants, but while she looks at the drawing, Scully can’t help but wonder who this woman was to Mulder. Was she someone he once cared about? Or was she just something to draw? Scully glances to Mulder, hoping that empathy, that connection the two seem to have with each other, is strong enough to read minds, strong enough for him to answer her silent question. 

It isn’t.

And it doesn’t.

Scully moves on, to the next page. This one a series of close-ups consisting of breasts and vaginas, but it’s the page next to it that Scully becomes interested in. A series of hands, some the same hand and others different, all from different angles.

“Why hands?” she asks.

“They tell who a person is,” Mulder says. “Like yours…” He takes her hand off the page, holding it close to his face. “I noticed they’re always clean.” He thumb runs along her fingers, gliding across her nails and sparks shoot through her, from fingers to toes. “And you cut your nails regularly. They’re soft, too.” He turns her hand over, palm now facing him as his thumb runs along there too. “Despite your poverty, you’ve never been forced to work.” 

With his analysing done, Scully takes her hand back and looks at it.

“How wrong was I?” He asks, waiting for her to tell him he was very wrong.

Scully smiles, moved but slightly scared. “You’re not,” she whispers and a smile breaks across his face.

“You have a real skill, Mulder,” Scully says, she looks back down at the drawings. “You see people, for who they really are.”

“I try to.” 

Scully stares at him, frustrated at how modest he is but also humbled by it. He honestly doesn’t see what a rare gift he has.

“What about you then?” he asks, taking the book back and closing it. “Aside from fixing people, what skills do you have?”

A mischievous smile appears across Scully’s face. Perhaps he’s expecting something along the same lines as his, but there is only one other skill Scully can think to show him.

She stands up. “Follow me and I’ll show you.”

Curiosity now replacing his modest expression, he follows Scully along the deck and through the final gate to first class, once again thrilled by breaking the rules but feeling completely free of the consequences. She finds the most secluded area and looks out towards the sea.

“Now,” she begins capturing Mulder’s full attention. “This is a skill that I’m very proud of.” 

“Okay…”

She gives one last mischievous smile, fully planning on shocking Mulder, ready to gauge that reaction.

Just as she was taught, she gathers up as much spit as she can, puffs lips out, pulls her head back and shoots forward over the railings as a ball of spit flies out into the ocean.

She looks to Mulder when she’s done, finds him completely awe struck. 

“Miss Scully,” he admonishes with a smile and light of voice. “And I thought you were above your kind’s crude ways?”

Scully laughs, pleased with herself and pleased he isn’t offended by such a minuscule thing.

“There are some things I have in common with them. You try.”

He looks at her for help. “I don’t…?”

“It’s easy,” she says, shaking her head. She begins the process again. “Get as much spit as you can, gather it together, lips puffy, head back, swing forward and shoot.” Another ball of spit shoots into the air and falls into the ocean again.

Mulder tries, doing as she says, and his attempt is pitiful, most of it falling down his chin. Scully laughs.

“You can do better than that.” 

She watches his second attempt, watches him try his hardest to get as far as her spit went. 

Not quite there but better than the first time.

Lost in teaching him how to spit far, Scully doesn’t hear the group of people approaching, continues to gather spit, making less than appealing noises to do so, it’s only when she’s sees Mulder has gone rigid beside her that she stops and turns towards the four women who stand there.  
“Fox?” The oldest woman says. “What are you doing?”

“I was just, um…”

The woman’s eyes fall to Scully, her gaze strong and unforgiving.

“Rules are set to keep order,” the woman begins to explain. Scully thinks she’s saying them to Mulder but her stare doesn’t weaver from Scully. “They keep things as they’re supposed to be, nothing out of place, nothing in the wrong place.” Her eyes move to Mulder. “You know that, Fox.”

Mulder nods. “I do, Mother. But I thought this could be an exception. See, I invited Miss Scully onto the deck.”

His mother’s lips pursue at the mention of Scully’s last name, a thin line forming. 

“Scully.” The woman’s eyes fall back to Dana. “A very old Irish name, isn’t it?”

Scully shifts uncomfortably, wanting nothing more than any of the women to not acknowledge her presence, but she’s on their deck and that is a wish that is soon not to be granted.

“Aye, Ma’am,” says Scully.

“What does it mean?”

Dana thinks for a moment, her mind backtracking from it’s anglicised form to the Gaelic form and translated form.

“Student,” Scully answers, unsure of the relevance of this question.

The mother only huffs in reply.

“You know the rules, Fox.”

They make eye contact, her and Mulder, a promise that they’ll see each other again sometime.

“I need to get back to my brother anyway.”

As she goes to leave, she catches Mulder’s eyes once more. He glances down to his hand and her eyes follow. The book.

She leans closer into him, using her arm to conceal the book and takes it, quickly moving it in front of her.

“Miss Scully!” A younger, more clear-cut voice rings through the air and Scully turns, moving the book to behind her back.

“Yes?” 

The youngest girl steps forward, standing next to Mulder’s mother.

“How would you like to join us for dinner tonight?”

“Phoebe…” Mulder whispers through gritted teeth, even Mrs Mulder turns to the girl in utter shock- the other two women stand watching.

Surprised too, Scully thinks for a second. “You want me to join you for dinner in first class?”

“Yes,” Phoebe says, a grin itching across her face. “My invitation since you seem to be a friend of Fox’s, I think it’s worth getting to know you.”

Scully knows how this works, knows she’s in a catch-22; she can’t deny this request but by agreeing she’s submitting herself to a night of humiliation and cattiness. 

Scully supposes she’d just have to be catty back.

“Of course I will, Miss…?”

“Miss Green,” says Phoebe. “Soon to be Mrs Mulder.” Her left hand moves in front of her right, the gigantic engagement ring that could not doubt feed her and Charlie for years if they got their hands on it, shines on her ring finger.

Scully looks briefly to Mulder who, quiet accurately, looks away. Maybe the mention of a fiancé would have been grand, Mulder.

“Of course, Miss Green. I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”


	4. Chapter Four

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, hello. I hope you're all enjoying this so far. If you want to read this earlier or you want to know my opinions on what I've wrote or whatever I'd fully recommend you going over to Tumblr and following me there @muldersfiish.

It’s not often that Scully feels self-conscious. It’s not often she cares what other people think of her; she’s happy to live her life if she’s able to live it in peace.

But standing here now does she realise just how much she stands out. This spontaneous trip meant most of her belongings got left behind at that filthy inn she was staying in. Clothes didn’t matter, she was going home. Even when she got on the ship, nobody downstairs cared what she wore, for the week she was here, the two sets of items would do her.

Until now.

She stands outside the dining room, back against the wall as she attempts to blend in. The people who pass her, those who notice her (the women mostly) glare at her, stare at her with confusion, repulsion. One even asked the door man what she was doing here. The door man had just shrugged, told the woman he was told she was attending dinner with the Mulders. The woman shook her head, turning to the man beside her to loudly ask what these people were doing affiliating themselves with people like her. 

Scully kept quiet. She stood in her spot and waited.

“Scully?” Relief spreads through her when she hears Mulder’s voice. He walks a little ahead of his family, unlinking his arm from Phoebe’s. Scully doesn’t miss the offended look Phoebe gives her.

“How long have you been waiting?” he asks. He takes hold of her arm, leading her away from her hiding place.

“Not long,” Scully answers, just happy that she’s no longer standing here alone.

“We sent Krycek down to escort you up? Did he not come get you?”

Scully shakes her head.  
“Right,” says Mulder, looking towards the group. Scully follows, finding Krycek to be nowhere.

“We’ll speak to him later. Come on.” 

He takes her arm again and just as Scully is about to ask about Phoebe, Mulder looks at her, a sorry smile across his face as he drops her arm and moves to back over to Phoebe instead.

The woman’s smug smile doesn’t go amiss. 

Scully falls behind the group as they walk in, Mulder and Phoebe leading. Her eyes stay fixed on their linked arms, feeling a pang of what she can only rationalise as jealousy at the sight. Scully scolds herself, reminding herself that Mulder isn’t hers.

She thinks about that. She’s known the man for two days, when did she begin thinking of him as something that was hers anyway?

Tearing her gaze away, she looks around the room. A lot of money went into making this place look as grand as it does, from its high ceilings, to the massive chandelier in the middle of the room, to even the pristine carpet. Charlie could work for his entire life and still not make up the earrings equivalent to the cost of this room.

She looks to the people already seated at the tables, probably unaware to the money they are standing in. They’ve probably never once given it thought but it’s all Scully can think about.

That is until her eyes fall to a dog that sits in its own chair, eating its own scraps of better looking meat than is served downstairs.

Even the dogs eat better than us, Scully thinks as they sit.

She sits opposite Mulder and Phoebe, wishing they were sitting next to each other but at least she can look up and see him. Mulder smiles at her, kicking her foot beneath the table and Scully smiles, reassured as she places her foot on top of his.

His smile drops as he gazes at her and the look in his eyes steals her breathe away. She could be the only person in this room right now.

Scully breaks the eye contact, her eyes falling down to look at the plate and the cutlery that sits either side. Three spoons one side, two forks and a knife the other. Scully stares at it, bewildered and wondering why the need for so many utensils. She’s gotten through life fine with just a spoon and the occasional knife every once in a while.

She feels a nudge against her foot and looks up to see Mulder smiling at her with an amused look on his face, barely lifting up the normal looking fork. Scully kicks his foot, unimpressed with his finding enjoyment in this.  
Dinner begins and despite Scully’s initial fears they conversation doesn’t gravitate to or about her. They discuss the engagement, of what their lives will be like back in New York again, they gossip about people of the ship, so-and-so being seen with so-and-so whilst married to so-and-so. Scully doesn’t listen much, she eats her serving which is a lot more than she usually eats and plays footsy under the able with Mulder. She’s fine and somewhat happy here, eating decent food and no longer feeling like she’s out of place. 

That is until the dreaded words exit Phoebe’s mouth.

“Miss Scully…”

The chatter around the table stops as all eyes fall Scully. She stops the game she’s playing with Mulder, shifting her own eyes towards Phoebe.

“How are you finding all this?” the girl asks. “Not too overwhelming, I hope.” Her voice is laced with false concern.

Scully looks around, taking in all the faces that have gathered around the table. 

She swallows her food before speaking. “It’s not too much different to downstairs, actually,” she says, her eyes moving back to Phoebe. “Better food, though.” It gets a few awkward laughs.  
“How is steerage, Miss Scully?” Mrs Mulder asks to the side of her. “I heard the accommodations were well on this ship compared to others.” 

Scully shifts in her sit, putting her fork down on the table as she leans forward to see the older woman.

“Beats the cargo hold on a ferry,” Scully says with a smile. “A lot less rats here, too.” She looks pointedly at Phoebe. The woman seethes. 

“Miss Scully is joining us from third class,” Mr Mulder explains to the new people on the table. “She met my son the night last night on the back of the ship.” 

Scully sits back, caution of the reactions around her. Some make inquiring faces towards Mr Mulder and Mulder and to each other.

An older man begins to speak. “Do you often find yourself conversing with…” he looks unsurely at Scully. “third class passengers, Fox?” 

“Not usually,” Mulder admits and Scully watches with curiosity at how he handles this situation. “Though I would consider doing it again,” he looks to her then. “They are quite interesting people.”

Scully smiles, impressed.  
Of course Phoebe has to ruin it.

“How is it that you’re here, Miss Scully?” 

You asked me here, you eejit is just on the tip of Scully’s tongue before Phoebe herself saves them both from embarrassment and elaborates.

“I mean, how did you get on the ship with so little money?”

Scully begins to play her own game. These people want to degrade her, drag her down and make a mockery out of her, so be it. She’ll be honest.

“It was my brother, really,” Scully says. “He won the tickets when he won a game of poker. We were on our way home actually and instead we ended up here.”

“And where is home?” another man asks.

“Belfast,” she answers. “Or just outside of it to be exact.” 

“Titanic was built in Belfast, wasn’t it?” Mulder asks but it’s clear he already knew the answer.

“It was,” Scully says proudly. “It’s the city’s pride and joy. We don’t have much but least we have Titanic.” 

“Do you and your brother travel around together a lot?” Mrs Mulder asks.

“Only recently.” She thinks to Charlie who is probably wondering where is she. Or he’s too drunk to care. “He’s fifteen, see, so he’s only just been allowed out of my mother’s eye. He’s never been one to stay put and has wanted to leave Ireland for a while now. Ma wanted me to watch over him, make sure he didn’t get into trouble and that.”

“Looks like all mothers are the same regardless of class,” Mulder says and Mrs Mulder smiles though it looks like it takes a lot of effort.

“How is Ireland given the, er…circumstances?” somebody asks.

Scully pauses. Her battle-worn country wasn’t doing so well lately.

“It could be better.” she says truthfully. 

“They should leave Ireland alone,” Mulder says seriously. The table falls quiet minus some disgruntled grunts. “It’s obvious they don’t want to be under the union, just give up and leave it be.”

Scully sits back in her seat, enamoured with Mulder’s statement.

“Doesn’t work that way, son,” Mr Mulder says.

“Why not?” asks Mulder, sincerely.

Before Mr Mulder can answer, Phoebe cuts in.

“Do we have to talk politics tonight? It grows heavily tiresome.”

And just like that the conversation drifts to something else, something other than Scully or Ireland. Scully looks to Mulder, shrugs and mouths at least you tried.

Dinner moves on, course after course, full from her firsts Scully declines another and soon grows bored. Her mind wanders to downstairs, to the party that is no doubt commencing down there and how much she longs to be there with them not up here with sore ears from the piano music and her head hurting with trying to keep up with these people.

Mulder catches her attention with a tap against her foot as he mouths, You want to go? 

Looking around, nobody paying attention to her, she nods.

“Father,” says Mulder. “I’m going to take Dana back to the gate.”

Mr Mulder looks towards Scully, “Have we tired you out already?”

Beginning to stand, Scully replies, “I’m afraid so.” She turns to Phoebe. “Thank you for the invite, Miss Green. I’ve enjoyed it.”

Phoebe smiles, an act for the people. “My pleasure, Miss Scully.” She turns to Mulder then, grabbing his arm. “You won’t be too long?” she asks.

“I’ll be back before you know it.” 

No with kiss goodbye or anything of the sort, Mulder leads Scully out of the dining room.

The cool air is welcoming, as is the freedom, too. She’d done well, Scully, even with the less-than-appealing questions. He was proud, though he had no right to be.

“So, how did I do?” she asks, as if reading his mind, a habit they had seemed to fall into.

“Wonderful,” he says. “Dress you up a bit and no one would have been none to wiser.”  
She smiles bashfully at the decking. He likes it when she grows shy.

“Did you enjoy it?” Mulder asks. He knows what the answer will be but just out of curiosity really.

Her answer is as expected.

“Does anyone enjoy that?” She giggles to herself and it’s a sound Mulder finds himself wanting to hear again. “I think one night is good enough for me.”

“I couldn’t agree more.” He thinks back to that dinner, to the one pressing matter he’s most anxious for her to hear.

“I meant what I said in there, about Ireland, it should be its own country.”

They stop just outside the third class gate. She looks up at him, searching, woefully. “I’m afraid you’re preaching to the choir.” She looks down then, to the stairs, to where the sounds of a party are escaping through the cracks in the door. It sounds appealing, fun, something Mulder has yet to experience of this ship, save from his meetings with Scully.

“Come down with me,” she says suddenly, her eyes big and asking.  
Mulder begins to shake his head. “I- I can’t…” he begins, though he wants to protest. “I promised Phoebe…”

Scully sighs, big and heavy, exasperated. “And how many of those promises have you actually kept?” She sighs once more, calming herself down and shaking her head. “Whatever. You go back and have fun in there.” She spins, beginning to unlock the gate. Mulder stands there, watching, his heart heavy, his heart telling him to go down there and just have to bloody fun, it’s not going to hurt.

“Scully…” he says and she turns. “Will I be okay down there?”

“They’ll be too drunk to care.”

It’s loud and busy. A band composed of various instruments play in the corner, their music floating around the room, upbeat and celebratory. It’s a celebration of life down here, people dancing with whoever, others who drink, play poker, darts, laugh. It’s alive. There’s no need for talking, no need for language or verbal communication, they communicate through dance and laughs, everything is clear and there are no lies. They’re just people. Just people living.

He sits on a stool, a Guinness beside him and watches Scully dance in circles with a little boy who stared imploringly at her hair, not that Mulder can blame the boy, he too has often found himself captivated with it.   
He likes it here, likes how he has this corner to himself and he can just appreciate everything- appreciate Scully more so- how much happier she looks down here. He can be a voyeur here, too. He can watch her without feeling like he’s intruding or looking at her like a creature of wonder. He never has but when it’s just them, and when she looks back at him, he feels like he is.

The boy yawns and the two stop what they’re doing. She wanders back over to Mulder once she’s sent the boy off, a full smile doing its own dance across her face.

“His name’s Willem,” she says as she picks up his drink and drinks from it. Mulder doesn’t protest, they can share everything if she wants.

“Come dance with me?” she shouts over the noise and Mulder had been distracted with the thought of her saliva on his glass that it had taken a moment for him to process her request.

This he protests.

“No…no…” he says, shaking his head.

Scully rolls her eyes, outstretching his hand. “Come on. I’m sure a rich fella like yourself learned how to dance.”

The truth is, his parents had tried to teach him, put both him and Sam in lessons when they were younger and while Sam had naturally excelled (even though she protested originally) he’d lumbered about like a giant (it got worse when he actually grew into a giant)

“And even if you cannae,” Scully continues. “Neither can anybody here.”

Mulder thinks about that for a second, before looking around the room to see that the ‘dancing’ was really just jumping in time to the music. Somewhat less nervous, he takes her hand and pulls himself up.

His hand naturally gravitates to the dip of her waist, and only then does he become aware of how close they are. They bask in the moment of just being free to touch each other, away from all those who might say otherwise. They can do as they like down here and nobody upstairs would know any different.

The tension is broken when a smile breaks out across Scully’s face. “We’re essentially in a tavern, Mulder,” she tells him. “You don’t have to be so formal.” 

Mulder doesn’t feel formal; his tie off, buttons undone, sleeves rolled up (he hadn’t missed Scully’s look when he’d done that) He takes his hand out of hers, missing the feeling of it, as it joins his other one at her waist.

There’s a break in the music and Mulder, nervous once more, leans down towards her.  
“I don’t know what I’m doing.”

Scully shrugs, “Just do what everything else does.”

And with that, there’s the chance of music. Instantly he spins her and then begins jumping around the room, weaving their way in and out of people who are also doing the same thing. It’s fun, Mulder thinks, dancing is actually fun, he could spend the night doing this if he wanted to.

Time speeds up and he has no idea how long he’s been gone for. They know where he is and who he’s with and Mulder couldn’t care any less. He’s six beers in, ready to spend all of Daddy’s money in one night, and in the middle of an arm-wrestling match with someone he thinks is from Belgium. 

He refuses to lose, that competitive school-boy coming out of him. His opponent seems to be the same. There’s no winnings at the end of this- no money or even a free drink. They play for the fun of it.

Mulder loses and he shakes Mr Belgium’s hand and moves on.

Later in the night, losing count of how many beers he’s drank but knowing he’s drank enough for the room to be a wee bit out of focus, he gets into a conversation with an American about baseball. Barely anybody in England really knew what he was talking about half the time.  
He explains the rules to Scully with a promise that they will play as soon as the ship docks.

The party slowly comes to an end with people slowly drifting off to their rules, the bar closing and the band packing away. Mulder sits back in the corner, slouched against the bench, head down, as the room spins around him.

“Think we need to get you to bed,” he hears Scully say.

Lifting up his head, his stomach lurching slightly, a heavy loopy grin crosses his face as he sees two Scullys in front of him.

“Only if I get to go in yours,” he answers back, too happy and drunk to care about the consequences.

He sees her bite her lip and it’s incredibly attractive.

“There are hits and there’s misses,” she reminds him, reaching for his arm and helping him up. “And then there are misses.”

Worth a try. 

He tries his best to get himself up the stairs but all he wants to do is shut his eyes a sleep, the world spins and he doesn’t like it, the ship rocks back and forth making everything worse and he doesn’t like it. He just wants to curl up next to Scully, she’ll make it all go away.

They get up the stairs and he stumbles against the wall, needing a moment to just breathe in the salty air and hope he doesn’t throw up.

“Jesus Christ, how much have you had to drink?” Scully asks.

“A lot more than I usually do,” Mulder says, shutting his eyes against the spinning and the rocking and the overwhelming idea to just throw up.

He opens his eyes and she’s incredibly close to him, concern littered across her features. He focuses on Scully, wills himself to see just one, to use her as a way to calm his twisting stomach. 

But something changes as the two Scullys become one Scully, his Scully and he’s had so much fun tonight then he can remember having, he wants this fun for the rest of his life.

He moves forward, ready to capture it, to take that fun and make it stay, make it never go away.

But her hand falls to his chest and all she needs to say is one name.

“Phoebe…”  
It sobers him up. Or he sobers himself up. He nods slowly, bringing himself to full height. Phoebe, he thinks over and over again. Phoebe doesn’t deserve this.

Content that he now isn’t going to throw up, or pass out, or whatever Scully moves away from him, taking her hand off his chest and he immediately misses the contact.

Phoebe…Phoebe…Phoebe…

“Goodnight, Mulder,” Scully says, she opens the gate, allowing him to leave.

And Mulder goes, against everything he goes, back to Phoebe, back to his life.

He makes sure to watch Scully go back down the stairs, however, until she disappears from sight.

With a sigh, and a hand rubbing his face, Mulder prepares to leave it all behind and savour the fun he’s had, the world Scully’s opened up to him. Just as he’s about to walk, a voice stops him.

“Had a fun night, Mulder?”

And Mulder’s blood turns cold.


	5. Chapter Five

It’s been a while since he’s felt his head pound as it does. Mulder’s hangover doesn’t treat him well, the lack of sleep from last night also wasn’t helping.

Krycek had caught him. Mulder had no doubts that the younger man had probably been spying on him all evening on behalf of his father. The journey up to the rooms, Krycek had spent goading Mulder, telling him just how much trouble the Golden Boy was in. Mulder had ignored him, as best he could, walking ahead and blocking the boy’s voice from his ears.

Only once in bed and sobered up did Mulder let the worry in. The rat had probably scampered off to Father before coming back and waiting for Mulder to leave third class, just to appear out of nowhere with that stupid smug smile Mulder wouldn’t mind wiping off the bastard’s face one day.

Now, he tries to ignore the tension circling around the room, the quiet anger radiating from his father.

Mr Mulder had all be ordered Phoebe out of the room, proclaiming to want some alone time with his son. Mulder knew what was happening, what his father was doing. He was almost hesitant to let Phoebe go but the look in Father’s eyes, the way he stood with his back keeping the door open, telling Phoebe she needed to leave shut down any hopes that Mulder had of keeping her with them.  
Mulder picks at his breakfast, his stomach revolting from the hangover or from worry, he isn’t sure. His nervous glances towards his father are too common, every move his father makes has Mulder flinching, something he immediately scolds himself for afterwards every time.

The tension is killing him. He feels like weak prey sitting here, caught in a trap with no way out.

“Your mother was worried about you last night,” Father starts, not looking up from the paper he reads.

Mulder cringes, clamping down on the guilt that swirls in his stomach. This method, Mulder thinks. Bring up Mother and how she feels, great.

“I told her she had nothing to worry about,” Bill Mulder continues. “He’ll be back soon, I said, of course that was before I got word you were off gallivanting down in steerage.”

“I wasn’t gallivanting,” Mulder cuts in. “I was invited down there.”

Mr Mulder throws his paper down on the table, his anger now seeping through the lid.

“Those people could have ripped you apart and stolen everything you’re worth, did you think of that before you accepted the invitation?”

Mulder tries desperately hard to not roll his eyes, his jaw clenching.

“But I wasn’t and that didn’t happen. I just danced and had fun.”

“Had fun,” Bill laughs. “Fun is for children, Fox, you were almost a father, there’s no time for fun anymore.”

A sting of sadness stabs his gut. In of the concern for Phoebe’s wellbeing through the whole miscarriage, nobody had once consoled him. Phoebe got a dog, he got nothing, not even an ounce of comfort from anyone.

It was his child, too.

A cap on his anger, his father calms down. “Now I know this year has been difficult but that doesn’t give you an excuse to fool around. I’ll admit, this Scully girl isn’t as bad as I thought she would be but she’s not good for you either, getting you in trouble like this…” Bill sighs, leaning back to look at his son. “Maybe you’re just looking for friendship, after Samantha—” 

“It’s been twelve years,” Mulder says, unable to stay silent much longer. “It’s got nothing to do with her.”  
“Maybe it does,” his father says, the man who has all the answers to everything and is never wrong. “Maybe she reminds you of her somehow but that doesn’t make this…acquaintance right.” 

A beat passes and Mulder mulls this over. At eight Sam had a freedom about her but that was only because she was a child, naïve to the path that was set out for her. Scully has no path, she is freedom- hers and his. This is about freedom, not long-lost sisters.

“It’s best you don’t see that girl anymore.”

The words hit like bricks. 

“And to make sure you don’t, for the rest of the journey we thought it best you stay in our sights,” Mulder’s eyes shut in defeat. “There’s a service at ten and a tour after,” Bill explains but Mulder’s barely listening at this point. “You will attend both with your mother, Phoebe, and myself.” With that, Bill pushes away from the table and leaves the room.

Now alone, his face falls into his hands. His sentence has begun. 

Religion had never been something he believed in, never something he needed. Most people used it as a clutch, something to give them faith when there was nowhere else to turn to. He respected it but he ever found it necessary.

His mother had dragged him and his sister to church when they were younger; Sam liked the hymns, Mulder liked going home.

He feels much like a child now, sandwiched between his mother and father much had he had to be when he was younger, only it’s Phoebe who sits to the side of Mother rather than Sam.

Time dragged and his head hurt, somewhere behind him he could hear a voices, or voices, from behind the glass doors. Mulder twists in the bench, looking out beyond the doors, unable to see the figure making a fuss fully but also certain that he caught a glimpse of red hair.

“Get her out of here,” Father says to Krycek. He passes him a note and the boy scurries to the doors. Mulder watches.

“Face the front,” Father tells him and automatically Mulder turns. In a low, calming voice his father speaks.

“I’ll give you permission to talk to her later on,” Bill tells him. “You’re to tell her that you’re thankful for the company she’s provided but she’s not to bother you again. She stays in her area and you’ll stay in yours. Krycek will accompany you.”

Mulder doesn’t say anything, instead feeling more padlocks be added to his prison.  
The service ends soon enough, for which Mulder is grateful for. He’s ready to use head to his room and stay there for the duration of the journey.

He goes to do as much before Phoebe’s voice is stopping him.

“If we go now we’ll still make it in time for the tour.”

The bloody tour, Mulder thinks, he’d forgotten about that. He turns, eyeing his father with pleading eyes, hoping that he’ll let him go.

Of course, Father does the complete opposite.

“Yes,” Bill says, making direct eye contact with Mulder. “Fox was just telling me he couldn’t wait.”

The bastard.

Despite his father’s proclamation, Mulder makes no effort to be at all interested in the tour. He lingers at the back, catching words here and there about how long the ship took the built, who built it, why they built it, pointless stuff that Mulder just wasn’t interested in right now. Phoebe took to the front, constantly asking questions and if Mulder was in a better mood right now, he’d be surprised as her level of curiosity.

“How many lifeboats are there?” Phoebe asks.

“Twenty, I was told.”

“Is that enough?”

The small group stop, surrounded by sixteen lifeboats, Mulder counts, pressed up against the sides and out of the way as much as possible.

“Bit of an eyesore, aren’t they?” Mulder hears his father say.

The guide up front shrugs, mutters something about them being necessary to which Father hums in disagreement at.

“Let me show you the pool,” the guide says. 

The pool is nothing special despite people ‘oohing’ and ‘awing’ at it. They get the history, they watch people swim and Mulder’s just about ready to drown himself.

Just as they’re about to leave, his name is called. Mulder spins, catching a glance of a person who disappears behind a pillar and he knows it’s Scully.

His heart sinks.  
The group, and most importantly his father, busy following the tour, Mulder breaks away, heading towards the pillar with a lump in his throat.

“Finally,” Scully says grabbing onto his arm and pulling him towards her, hiding him from view. “I didn’t think I’d get a chance to see you.” His chest feels heavy, a sad smile flittering across his lips and instantly Scully’s frowning. “What’s wrong?”

Mulder stares at her, this woman that he feels like he’s known forever, who gave him access to a life away from pre-built paths and futures decided. He thinks of last night, of the fun that he had and the consequences having fun created. He thinks of his father, of Phoebe, of a life he doesn’t want but has to take it all the same.

He doesn’t want to lose Scully, but it’s only right. After this journey, after this ship docks, they’ll go their separate ways, end the ties now when they’re new rather than later when they’ve grown more attached.

“Scully, I…” He struggles with the words, with getting them out, with even forming them. His heart pounds, his head pounds still with the hangover, his stomach twists and his father’s probably now noticed he’s not with them. Can he not do this another time? Later? Tomorrow? Never…

“What is it?” she asks, she knows something amiss, knows there’s something wrong.  
“I…can’t see you anymore,” he says slowly. “I don’t want to.” A lie, his brain screams. But it isn’t. He may have been glum before but he wasn’t conflicted, he was bound to do right by Phoebe, to work on their relationship and make something out of it. “It’s too complicated, what we have.”

He watches her blue eyes turn to grey steel, the concern turning to hurt and then to anger.

“We’re just friends, Mulder, what else did you think we were?”

The word stings. He remembers her dancing, with the little boy and later when the night had progressed. Remembers her answers at the dinner and their conversations before it, the smile she’d given him when she knew she was doing well. Mulder can’t even begin to pinpoint what moment it turned complicated.

“I know, I know,” he answers quickly, frowning, thinking. “It’s just…I love Phoebe, and you…”

The words die on his tongue, a realisation crosses Scully’s face and Mulder’s stomach falls. He’d mistakenly just told her the truth when he should have finished the words.

He doesn’t even try to.

“Right,” Scully says, all metal and concrete. “I suppose I should take this as kindness, so I should, you not making me your bit on the side, an’ all.”

Mulder shakes his head furiously, “No, no, it’s not like that!”

She moves away from him and Mulder misses the closeness already. 

“Why not?” She’s fire and cold at the same time, both burning and he wants it to stop. “That’s all we are to you anyway, isn’t it? Something new when the regular gets old.”

Words aren’t forming, he just continues to shake is head, it all spilling out of control before him.

She brushes past him, knocking into him on the way. Before she leaves, she turns back towards him, attempting to deliver one last blow.

“I hope you’re happy, Mr Mulder. I hope Phoebe makes you happy.”

“It’s my father!” he shouts before she leaves, above the natural loud volume of the swimming pool they’re still standing in. “He wants this marriage to work, he doesn’t want any distractions.”  
It was the wrong thing to say as Scully swirls, ready to say something before it seemingly dies on her lips. With one last cold hard stare she leaves.


	6. Chapter Six

Embarrassed, anger swirling through her, Scully storms out of the pool, throwing open the doors on her way out. She ignores the looks she gets for her actions, for the way the doors bounce off the walls and startle a woman nearby. She doesn’t care, she just needs to get far enough away from Mulder and all things first class. She barely acknowledges the crewman passing who barks at her to get back to her own deck, Scully gladly goes, climbing over the now locked gate. 

She’s done. Done with all of it; the dinners, the people, Mulder. He can live in his sad fake world with his sad fake fiancé. In a few days time, she’ll get off this boat and never the two shall meet again.

His words still ring in her ears. His words, his father’s words, whoever’s words- she doesn’t care, they’re all the same- the same closed minded people who don’t give a shit about anything other than themselves.

But Mulder wasn’t.

She pushes that thought away, ignoring the truth and forcing herself to mould Mulder to be like everyone else. If he did care about her he wouldn’t be worried about what his father thinks.

Why did it always have to come down to what father’s thought of their children?

She finds herself in the galley before she realises, a room completely crowded with people doing nothing with their lives and it angers Scully even more, this whole ship does, every person on it. She’s sick of crowded rooms, of seeing the same people every day.

The novelty of things wears off eventually.

She spies Charlie in the corner, happy, laughing with a group of boys he’s befriended. This journey had given him the freedom to just be a kid, to not have to worry about finding a job or the constant response of “No, you can’t work here”, “No, we haven’t got any jobs free for you”, “No, you need more experience”. He hadn’t won much in the terms of a job, either.

Seeing him now, Scully is envious. Despite the hardships, he was still free to be a child, they could go home and Ma wouldn’t push him to find a job and here, he could laugh with as many people as he wanted, hopelessly flirt with as many girls as he wanted and there would be no consequences, no rules or hearts broken because of a stupid mistake. 

Not in the mood for company, Scully leaves the galley, about to head into her room and shut the world away for the rest of the trip before a familiar little voice stops her.

“Dana!”

Scully turns to see a little girl, blonde curls bouncing behind her, bound towards her.

A smile passes across Scully’s face at the presence of Agnes, momentarily forgetting her sadness and anger, she kneels to the girl’s height.

“Hello,” Scully says. “Are you feeling better now?”

Agnes nods her head, her blue eyes bright and cheeks rosy with colour, so much better than the day before.

“You helped me be better,” the girl says. In her hands she holds a brown box and extends it forward towards Scully. “I wanted to give this to you, to say tack sjalv…That means thank you in Swedish.”  
Scully takes the box from Agnes, her thumbs slipping under the lid and opening it. A dancer dressed in traditional Swedish clothing appears spinning around as music plays from the box.

A music box.

Scully smiles, warmed by the girl’s gesture of thank you. She looks from the music box to Agnes, the girl’s smile radiating happiness, proud of her gift.

“Are you sure?” Scully asks, thankful for the gift but also having first-hand knowledge that they didn’t carry much and what they did carry was something extremely special to them.

Agnes nods. “It was Mama’s but Papa said we couldn’t keep it anymore, it’s too much space.” Her smile falters at that and Scully knows that it was either to be given away or sold to a stranger.

“I’ll take it Agnes,” says Scully and the girl instantly cheers up. “I’ll look after it and won’t let anything happen to it.”

Agnes happily nods and gives Scully and hug before running off back down the corridor.

The music box in one hand, Scully opens the door and sets the box on the table, a wee bit happier than she was before.

It’s strange how yesterday she was sat in a great big hall surrounded by shallow-minded people, eating food she could barely pronounce and today she is sat on the end of the bench eating mash and beef.

Well, eating being the desired action, she more than just picks at it. 

She should probably eat it. All those times when she was younger, when she just wished there had been a slice of bread in the house remind her that she should eat food when she can, and eat all of it because who knows when the next one would be? 

Her mood had lightened up with Agnes’ present but it hadn’t taken long for it to fall back down when she was alone. Maybe isolating herself wasn’t the best idea.

She can’t decide why this whole Mulder thing had gotten to her so. A similar thing had happened before, Scully had got in too deep with someone she shouldn’t and they had left her standing at a train station all night, never showing up themselves.

Whilst it had hurt to be humiliated, to walk back home with her tail tucked between her legs, she’d gotten over that situation fairly quickly and she’d done more than just dance with the man.

Scully tries not to think about the reasons, she was supposed to be blocking Mulder from her mind anyway, no dwelling on him.  
“Decided dinner with your own kind is better then?”

Scully looks up to find Charlie opposite her, a smile plastered across his face from his ‘joke’. Sure, hilarious.

He sits down on the bench across from her. “I found your wee English fella before,” he tells her. “Well, he found me actually, jumped over the gate and all,” Charlie finishes with a smile at the memory.

Scully just frowns, why would a man who told her mere hours ago that he wanted nothing more to do with her go out of his way to talk to her younger brother?

“What did he want?”

“He just asked if I’d seen you, which I replied I hadn’t since the party and whatever glimpse I’d gotten of you before you ran out this morning.”

“I was with Agnes.”

Really, Scully doubts she’d spent no more than ten minutes with the lass but she wasn’t about to admit to her brother than she’d been lying in her bed depressed all day.

“Anyway, he said if I saw you to tell you to meet him by the mass at dinner time, he’ll be there.”

Scully thinks for a moment, calming the butterflies that fly in her stomach. Just what was Mulder playing at?

“He also said that you didn’t have to go if you didn’t want to, but something told him you will.” Charlie frowns, staring at her for a moment and Scully feels incredibly awkward.

“What happened between you two? You were getting along at that party last night.” His frown chances into a sly, knowing smile.

Emboldened, Scully pushes her bowl out of the way, leaning forward so her face was mere inches away from her brother’s.

“You can wipe that smile off ye face cause ye don’t know anything.”

She pushes herself away, standing up from the bench.

“You’re gonna go?” Charlie asks, leaning back also.

Scully nods.

“Can I have your food?”  
Without a word, she pushes the bowl in Charlie’s direction. Curiosity and nerves blooming, she disappears off to find out what games Mulder wants to play.

A chilly breeze blows across the deck, the sun almost setting in the distance. It looks beautiful, the orange and purples that paint the sky. It’s clear, the islands just off in distance visible. There’s no one out, every one off in the halls eating dinner, a perfect time Mulder chose.

Scully sees him near the mass just like he said, hunched over and leaning against the rails. At first she thought he’d be sitting on them, not unlike their first meeting. Despite her confusion, her curiosity and the slight annoyance at his ever changing mind, she smiles at the memory.

“Are you always so moody, then?”

At the sound of her voice he turns, almost surprised to see her there.

“You came?” he asks.

Scully nods, “I did. I almost had second thoughts leaving the dinner hall but I thought I’d give you the benefit of the doubt.” She walks closer to him then, shivering in the slight chill, a mischievous smile flittering across her face. “So long as I’m not distracting you,” she almost whispers.  
And while she smiles he does not, instead pain and regret etched on his face as he looks down at his feet.

“I shouldn’t have said that,” he apologises. “I just…I feel bad for everyone involved in this, even Phoebe, she…she’s a lot but she doesn’t really deserve this.”

There’s a moment when Scully wonders if they’ll ever be able to have a conversation that doesn’t include Phoebe’s name in it but she thinks back to Mulder’s earlier words, how their relationship was complicated, so no, she doubts they ever will.

“What are you trying to say, Mulder?”

He looks up at her then, almost shy. “I guess I’m trying to say that I want to do this. You and me. Us. If that’s what you want?” 

Is it? Her anger at him casting her aside, at choosing his family over her, they weren’t friendly feelings. The need to see him today, the speak to him and spend time with him, that went beyond friendship, too. She’s known him less than three days and even in that short time span she can’t think of the moment when they overstepped the friends line.

She doesn’t think he knows either.

“You tried to kiss me when I walked you to the gate yesterday. Did you mean it?”

“I did,” he admits. “I wanted to but you stopped me so I thought maybe you didn’t and then…then before you said we were just friends so why the change?”

“Because you pissed me off,” she tells him, if they’re going to tell the truth they may as well both be truthful. “Because your father is right, I am a distraction.” She walks that little bit closer, now only a foot or so away from them both being in each other’s personal space.

“Does that bother you?”

Scully thinks about that. ‘Distraction’ maybe isn’t the nicest word to use for someone but in this moment she doesn’t care what some little person who seems as far away as the islands around them are, thinks she is.

“No,” she finally answers.

Mulder smiles and slowly outstretches his hand towards her. 

“I want to show you something, Distraction.”  
Scully smiles at the little nickname and takes his hand. Mulder leads her to the rails, places her where he was just standing.

“Step up onto the rails,”   
Scully looks at him cautiously. “What? Are you planning on us both jumping off together or something?” 

Mulder ignores her joke. “Just do it,” he says softly.

Grasping the heaviness of the situation she does as she’s told, stepping up on the first rail. She lets go of his hand to grasp hold of the mass, holding onto it for dear life as her feet wobble on the rail. With both of Mulder’s hands freed, she feels him take hold of her waist, holding her in place and instantly she feels a bit more secured.

“Are you sure we won’t get into trouble for this?” Scully asks, suddenly feeling cautious about any eyes that could be watching them.

“Why would they?” Mulder asks, incredibly close to her ear. “We’re not doing anything wrong.”

Correction: this whole step they’re taking is incredibly wrong but Scully decides not to dwell on that, inside basking it in, in the thrill of doing something that she shouldn’t be once more.

“So what am I supposed to be seeing?” she asks, turning towards him.

“Hang on a second.” He takes one of his hands off her side and uses it to cling onto the hand-rail, pulling himself up onto the bottom rail Scully stands on. She can feel every inch of his warm body pressed up against her, and still in her light and playful mood, she pretends to adjust herself so her entire body brushes against his. In response, the hand holding onto her clutches her tighter.

“Stop it,” he tells her, less lightly than before and Scully stops, allowing herself to just lean about into him.

“Look down at the water,” he tells her and she does so.

At first there’s nothing, just the waves caused by the ship as it ploughs on to their destination but then she sees it, a little speck of grey that appears in the air and disappears again. And another one. And a third. 

“I see it!” she shouts, as three dolphins jump in and out of the water one after the other.

A smile passes across her face in happiness and delight, watching the creatures appear and disappear. This is what he wanted to show her and it doesn’t matter that she’s seen dolphins before, doesn’t bother her that it isn’t something more special, this is enough, just watching them jump in and out of the water, the cold chill of the wind against the front but the warmth of Mulder behind her, it’s all she can ask for. Slowly, everything fades away; the presence of people tucked behind walls, the view around her and the sun that continues setting in the distance, the ship and its rails that she stands on and finally even Mulder disappears. Her eyes close and she’s warm and happy, free of all worries and stress. There’s no start or destination, it’s just her and the wind and the warmth.

Her surroundings come back soon, Mulder being the first thing to return to her. Scully opens her eyes again and looks down to the sea, the dolphins having gone. The spell broken and she misses their presence.

Weightless and carefree, she turns around in Mulder’s arms, taking her cold hands away from the mass and rail and presses them against Mulder’s warm chest, warming them up.

“Happy?” he asks quietly.

Scully nods. She looks up from her hands to find Mulder’s face inches away from hers. There’s a bit of a height difference between them like this and she steps onto her tip toes, clutching onto to Mulder to hold onto to as she presses her lips against his, once again her surroundings floating away around her.

She’s glad this is their first kiss. The one on the way to the gate would have been drunk and rough but this is sweet and perfect and much, much nicer.

It doesn’t go beyond that, as much as she wants it to be further it’s fine as it is, there’s more time for that later, anyway.  
She pulls away, eyeing him nervously but something else catches his eyes. Frowning, his hands climb to her neck, slipping inside her collar to pull out her cross.

She looks at it from where he holds it between them.

“My mammy gave me it,” Scully explains. “My older brother tried to sell it one time but I didn’t let him. Instead I hid it and told everyone I lost it, until it was time to leave and I started wearing it again.” She unclasps it, handing it to Mulder to look at it. “I don’t know why I wouldn’t let them have it,” she wonders almost to herself.

“It’s yours. It means something to you.” She watches as he runs his thumb over the slim lines of the cross.

“I guess,” Scully agrees, staring at it. “It would have fed us, though.”

She watches him continue staring at it and it’s almost like he’s disappeared inside himself, frowning and thinking as he continues to stroke and hold the necklace.

He looks to her, his eyes searching hers and an almost pleading look on his face.

“You can say no,” he begins, before stopping to swallow nervously. Scully waits, interested in what he’s about to ask her. “Can…can I draw you wearing this?” She’s about to answer with a yes before he cuts her off. “Just wearing this?”


	7. Chapter Seven

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote smut. Don't expect it to be good. I apologise in advance.

The door to his first class suit opens and Mulder lets her in first. The air is awkward, the request still buzzing around but it’s happening, whether either of them can believe it or not.

He gives a glance into the hallway, to make sure there’s no member of family making an inopportune visit to the room, before shutting it and locking it.

“This is…” 

Mulder turns to see Scully looking around the room. She turns back to him.

“Nice,” she finishes and Mulder’s not sure if he saw the glint of envy pass over her eyes or not.

“I like it,” he says, throwing the keys onto the table. “Bed could be better, though.”

Scully swivels to take a look at the bed. An unsure glance towards Mulder, she cautiously walks over to it. He watches as she sits down on the bedding, testing it out, before her eyes widen and she falls back.  
Mulder lets out a chuckle.

“I could get used to this,” Scully says, snuggling into the bed.

A surge of boyish immaturity overcomes him. From where he stands, not that far away, he jumps, landing onto the bed just millimetres away from her as the mattress’ springs creak and groan to take on the added weight created by the force. The act itself startles Scully.

“Jesus Christ, Mulder!” she cries. “What did you do that for?”

Mulder only laughs, leaning against his elbow. “What? Is my boyish agility turning you on or something?”

Her annoyance fades, the scowl transforming into a grin. It’s infectious, and Mulder finds himself grinning to. He likes this. The freedom and ability to just play around and be stupid. He tried it with Phoebe once and she just told him to grow up.

Something in the room catches Scully’s eye and she’s up off the bed before Mulder even realises, interested in something over at the vanity.

“What are these?” 

Climbing off the bed himself, Mulder, curious, heads towards her. He sees the vital that caught her attention.

“Phoebe’s perfumes.” He takes a bottle himself, tossing it between both hands. It’s the first time he’d really taken a look at one. “They cost a fair bit considering how tiny they are.” He puts the vital down while Scully untwists the cap of the one she holds and smells it, before sighing with what sounds like a hint of disappointment, and places the bottle back down.

“They all seem wasted on her,” Scully mutters just loud enough for Mulder to hear.

“I’ll buy you a bottle one day,” he says with a smile and a promise.

Scully, in turn, gives him- what he can only perceive as a sceptical look- before something else catches her attention.

“You have a dog?” she asks, rushing over to the lead hanging up.

He’d forgotten about the dog. Again.

Heading over to the bedroom door, he opens it and out trots the mutt, tongue sticking out as it looks up expectantly at Mulder.  
Scully gasps in awe, racing over to the dog. She’s there, kneeling on the floor, excitedly stroking her hand through its fur, completely taken with it.

“She’s Phoebe’s dog,” Mulder says, watching. “She got it after…” He stops, not sure if Scully was really interested in the story of why Phoebe has a dog. She’s not listening anyway, too enamoured with the dog. “I don’t like it, anyway.”

She looks up at him like she’d just heard him wrong.

“How can you not like dogs?” she asks, shocked.

“Because I’m not a dog person.”

She smiles, shaking her head and turning back to the dog that seems to love Scully as much as she loves it.

The dog can fuck off, Scully’s his, Mulder thinks, ignoring the fact that he’s become jealous of a dog.

“You keep surprising me, Mulder.”

Yeah, I do that a lot. 

Thinking that to himself, he picks the dog up, walking over to the adjoining door.

“Stay there,” he tells the thing. Then proceeds to shut the door on it.

“I hope that room belongs to someone you know,” Scully says, smiling.

“Yeah, my parents.” Mulder answers.

The smile falls from her face as she glances warily to the door then back to Mulder.

“They’re not due back any time soon, are they?”

Mulder looks to the clock then back to Scully.

“Dinner will keep them occupied.”

The awkwardness returns back to the room, the weight settling over them again.

“You definitely comfortable with this?” he asks. He asked it after she’d nodded when his request was first made. He’d asked again when they got to the front door, and now he was asking again.  
Scully nods, fiddling with her hands. He’d rather verbal confirmation but he takes what he can get.

“Right then…”

An awkward pause once more.

“I guess I should go get…unready then…”

“Yeah,” Mulder agrees, bouncing nervously on his feet. What’s he got to be nervous about anyway, he’s not the one about to strip naked in front of a stranger. “Don’t forget to leave the cross on,” he says before she disappears behind the bedroom door.

“Aye.”

Once gone, Mulder lets out a nervous breath. He looks around the room, dissociating from the now well-known place and begins thinking about it from an artistic point-of-view. 

He lights candles, turns down the glow of the lights, bathing the room in an orange hue. Moves the sofa to the middle of the room, adjusting it so the light will hit her best. Once happy with how the room looks, he swipes his sweaty hands on his pants and opens the safe, taking out the sketch-book.   
She’s just like everyone else, he repeats as he flips through the pages, reminding himself that he’s done this countless times before. 

He turns to a new page, rolls up his sleeves, and sharpens his charcoal briefly all the while repeating his mantra.

Lost in reverie, he doesn’t hear the bedroom door open or notice she’s standing there until she coughs.

He wills himself to look up and when he does, lets out a breath of awe at the sight.

Unsure of what she’s done- if she’s even done anything at all- she’s stands before him, a sheer black robe he knows is the only thing that covers her, her hair falls in soft curls around her shoulders. He sees her freckles more predominately here, too, and he doesn’t know whether it’s the lighting, or the mood, or her, or maybe he’s just been blind this entire time but she’s absolutely gorgeous.

“Scully…” he says, trying to form the words, tongue too fat.

She gives him a timid smile, a little move of the corner’s of her mouth, as her eyes skit everywhere.

His legs like lead, Mulder gets up from his seat, slowly approaching her.  
He wants to reassure her. Grasping a hand from their linked position, he smooths his thumb over the knuckles. She looks away, and when she does, his other hand is right there ringing her head back up to look at him.

She regulates her breath as they stare at each other. Positive she now won’t look away, he moves his hand away from her chin, folding it around the one he holds as he brings it up to his mouth, never looking away from her.

“You’re safe,” he tells her, still kissing her knuckles. “I promise.”

A certainty flickers across her eyes.

“I trust you.”

It’s almost as good as an I love you.

He lets go of her hand, moving back towards the table and his seat. When he sits down, she’s moves back towards the sofa, stopping as the backs of her knees hit the furniture. 

A synchronised inhale of air, she hooks her fingers into the robe and lets it fall to the floor.

Mulder is mesmerised, his eyes drinking up the sight before him. Gorgeous, he thinks once more, all soft curves and creamy skin. He feels his cock beginning to stir when his gaze falls to her breasts, nipples hardened thanks to the chill in the room.

“Gorgeous,” he says aloud, not able to get enough of her. His insides flutter with yearning at the little flirty smile she throws him.

Utterly distracted with the way the light catches her body, it’s only when she asks him how he wants her does he realise what they’re here to do.

Retaining some kind of professionalism, he instructs her to lie back against the cushions, turn her face towards him and then asks that she twist her body just a tiny bit so he can fully capture it.

He moves from his seat again when it becomes clear she doesn’t know what to do with her arms. Sitting in the space left over, he positions one arm to rest against the cushions and the other to lean against her temple. Happy with the positioning, he strokes a piece of hair out the way before kissing her forehead.

“Thank you for letting me do this,” he whispers against her, then he regains composure and walks back to the table, hand shaking as he picks up the charcoal.

“This isn’t an easy thing to do,” he says. “Lie as still as you can. Keep your eyes on me and look nowhere else.” She nods, locking her eyes onto his.  
With a deep breath, Mulder stares at her, taking note of where the light lands on her skin and where the shadows conceal over parts. His eyes travel up her body before landing on the cross, the gold standing out against her pale skin. He’d believe in a god if her name was Dana Scully.

With time ticking away, he slowly puts his pencil against paper and begins to draw.

It’s been some time since he’s drawn life. This engagement, the loss of their child, this spontaneous trip across the sea has put it all on hold. It’s been two years since he’s drawn a human yet it doesn’t take long for his hand to re-discover the habit, like riding a bike, his hand translates what’s in front of him. There’s the brief concern that maybe he won’t be able to do Scully’s beauty justice but as her outline is drawn by his own hand, those fears and doubts begin to fade away. It’s just him, his paper, his charcoal, and his Scully. He bathes in the familiarity of capturing a life, surrenders to the calming sound of pencil scratching against paper, to Scully’s little sighs and moans that spur him on in more ways then one. He softens her elbow, adds shading to the insides of her arms. He looks up when it’s time to concentrate on attributes that are unique to her; freckles that dot her arms, little birth marks that cover various places on her skin.

A blush covers his cheeks when he begins to draw the swells of her breasts, and it doesn’t go unnoticed by Scully.

“I thought you’d be used to drawing body parts by now?” she taunts from afar.  
Mulder smiles, he is, he’s drawn plenty but never with this much emotion behind it.

“Shh. You don’t realise it but you make little movements when you speak,” he gently chides.

“Sorry,” she apologies, settling down against the cushions and sighing as she relaxes.

As his fingers soften the lines of her breasts and torso, a flash of heat sparks in his stomach as he wonders what it would be like to touch the real-life form, would her skin feel as soft as it looks?

He moves back up to her neck, draws the cross and smudges out the area where the light hits it.

A bit more time is spent on adding a few touches, only shading and smudges the areas about her. He daren’t touch the masterpiece that sits in the middle, for fear of ruining it, but does as he likes with the surroundings all until it is complete. Finished.

She moves when she realises that he’s not drawing anymore and Mulder flips the book closed, eyes her hungrily and stalks towards her.

The way she looks up at him steals his breath away; so vulnerable and trusting, big and blue. Awestruck, he kneels before her, ready to worship at the alter that is Dana Scully and she is none the wiser to the power that she holds by just being her.

Tentatively, he stretches out his hand, hovering just above her torso. “May I?” he asks and Scully nods.

He begins trailing his fingers up the side of her waist, touching the real life sculpture of his drawing, watching the path of Goosebumps form behind them. He goes slowly, concentrating on the feeling of soft flesh beneath his fingertips. There’s not much skin to cover and Mulder stops just inches beneath the swell of her breast. A glance above and he can see her granting him permission. 

Gently he moves his finger along her chest, thumb hovering in the air and watching as her breathing becomes quicker.

Mulder stops just when his thumb is above her nipple, waiting, teasing. He sneaks a look at her, sees the pleading in her eyes, and with one final wait, he quickly flicks his thumb across it. A small gasp falls from her mouth and Mulder smiles, does it again as his other hand joins in, forgoing all the caution and hesitance the first had. More gasps leave her mouth and Mulder finds he likes the sound, wants to hear it some more.

He gets up from his position on the floor, feeling her eyes on him the entire time and sits beside her on the sofa. Unable to resist keeping his hands of her, they move to her leg, stroking up and down.  
He watches her eyes grow heavy, the lighting and continual movement of his hand making her tired. Mulder can feel it too, the warmth of the room and heat of her skin making him feel drowsy.

“You’re beautiful,” he speaks softly and is rewarded with a small, shy smile.

His hand stops, and he begins twisting on his seat. He feels rather than sees her dart awake, worried he was about to stop his ministrations. Mulder hushes her, telling her to relax as he bends over her, fully ready to appreciate the body laying before him.

He starts with her right ankle, dotting kisses on every inch of skin he can reach, trailing up to her calf and knee, keeping to the outside of her thigh and over her hip. Kisses her stomach and feels her fingers glide through his hair as she bucks against him, with his free hands he holds her down, continuing his journey up the middle of her torso, separating to plant a kiss against her nipples before meeting in the middle and continuing on. He kisses her cross, another barrier between them but one they’ve broken through together before finally landing on her lips.

His teasing has made her desperate, her mouth crashing against his, tongue trying to invade and Mulder lets her take control, lets her teeth scratch and suck and bite his lip.

He covers her completely, kneeling in the vee of her thighs, and Scully doesn’t wait to use this to her advantage, hooking her leg around him in an attempt to grind herself on him.

In his kiss-muddled haze he understands what she’s trying to do and he wants it to- if the semi in his pants is anything to go by- but…

“Are you sure?”

He pulls his mouth away from her and looks down at her; mussed hair, swollen lips, clouded eyes.

She nods.

He lets the information sink in, it is really that surprising that all this has led them here?

Scully laces their hands together, “Only if it’s what you want.”

A glance at the clock on top of the fireplace tells him it’s almost 7:00. Dinner can last anywhere between 5 o’clock and 9:00. A simple calculation tells him they have enough time before any unwanted interruptions.

“We’ll have to be quick,” he tells her anyway. Later he can dedicate hours and hours to discover every inch of her body, away from disapproving eyes.

“Best hurry up and get to where I am then,” she answers, pulling him back down and kissing him again.

He wastes no time tossing his shirt off, only breaking the kiss to throw it over his head and across the room. Scully quickens the process, hands working on undoing his belt and once she’s got it undone, he does the rest of the work, shucking down his pants and underwear and kicking them off.

They allow themselves this moment, just the feel of skin on skin and when Mulder looks at her again she smiles shyly.

The weight of what they’re moments away from doing bears down on him. With one last ounce of uncertainty Mulder asks, “Are you definitely sure you want to do this?” She can say no and he won’t think any less of her if she does. Won’t think any less of her if she doesn’t.

“I’m sure, Mulder. I promise,” she confirms.

Mulder smiles, assured that either one is about to regret this, he strokes a piece of hair back from her face. Just one last thing.  
“I’ve gotta ask,” he begins, frowning. This is slightly awkward. “Have you done this before?”  
Just be honest, Scully.

“Once,” she admits, unsure as her eyes look away from his. Embarrassed or ashamed, Mulder doesn’t know. It makes no difference to him if she’s not a virgin, it’s not his place, she had a life before him anyway, it would be stupid to have expected otherwise.

Without another word, he lets his hand trail to her centre, letting them ghost her outer lips before slipping a finger inside.

She gasps at the feel against the sensitive flesh and Mulder instantly feels the wetness that’s gathered there. Another finger presses in, joining the first as he gently spreads her fluids.

“Mulder…” she whines against his ear and Mulder guesses this could probably come under teasing if he carries on. “I’m ready.”

“I don’t want to hurt you,” he says, muffled against her shoulder.

“You won’t.” She moves her hips to the movement of his fingers, trying to create friction. “Please…”

Certain she was ready enough, he removes his fingers instantly missing the warmth as he grips himself in his hand.

With one last look to be certain, he guides himself into her.  
Fingers grip the short ends of his hair as she cries out but Mulder can think of nothing but how good she feels; warm and tight, a solid hold on him as he sinks all the way to the hilt.

He stops for a moment, giving her a second to adjust.

“Is this okay?” he asks. There’s a brief moment where he wonders if he’s being annoying, constantly asking her if she’s sure, if she’s alright, but her safety and concerns are paramount- he won’t have her thinking otherwise.

He feels rather than sees her nod. 

“You can move now,” she says, breathily. “I think I’m okay.”

Thank god, Mulder thinks. A second longer and he doesn’t think he’d be able to resist any longer.

He starts off slow, gentle like the waves they ride on but eventually the thrusts quicken. Her cries and grasps spur him on, allowing him to move faster as she moves beneath, keeping up with the pace he’s set. She begins mewling when she gets closer, hands trying to gain a grip on everything from the cushions and himself. He was close himself but he’d be damned if he finishes before her- this hasn’t been the best in terms of devoting real time to her pleasure, usually he likes to give a lot more than he allows himself to get, and had things been different here, he’d gladly give that time to her as well. He drops his fingers to her clit, rubbing furiously against her to the speed of his thrusts and it seems to help, she climbs his body trying to move faster, build more friction until finally the dam breaks. She crumbles in a heap of pants below him as her orgasm washes through her. It’s enough for him too, a few more sporadic thrusts and he follows her, collapsing on top of her.

They lay there, softening inside her and it’s only then when Mulder becomes acutely aware that he may be crushing her. He goes to move, to lay to the side but he feels hands gripping him, keeping him to her.

“No,” Scully says, holding him against her. “I like it.”

So he stays there, heart beating wildly in his chest as he lays against her chest.

The afterglow washes over him, the glow from the lights and candles casting them in a calm orange. He’s warm and safe, everyone but Scully a million miles away.

Nails scratch against his scalp and his eyes fall shut up, lulled by the feel of them against his head, the scent of Scully and the comforting heat that radiates from her body.

Without a care in the world, he could fall sleep right now. 

“Can I see it?” she asks against his chest. Their position changed at some point, he’d pushed himself to the side and pulled her to rest atop of him. For hours it had felt like they had been lying her, his nails gently grazing her side in their up-and-down motion.

He eyes the book still sat upon the table, it’s black cover stark against the mahogany. Mulder shifts to get up, and Scully moves away from him, bending to pick up the robe still left on the floor from earlier and wraps it around her. He walks back to the sofa, book now in his hand, and sits up against the cushions, pulling Scully back towards him, using her heat to keep him warm.

She takes the book and Mulder watches as she turns the pages, cautious for what she might say, hoping she’s as happy with it as he was.

The page falls open and Mulder eyes her anxiously, trying to gauge her opinion from the way she looks at it.

“Do you like it?” he asks, needing her to say yes.

She’s quiet and Mulder instantly thinks the worst.

“I can try again. I can do better…”

She shuts him up when her mouth falls onto his, kissing him with the same vigour as before, and Mulder is too struck to do anything more than to catch up, to devour her lips as much as she devours his.  
They break and her eyes float back down to the sketchbook again.

“I love it,” she says, her hand tracing the portrait. “Thank you.”

Mulder smiles, so happy and grateful and relieved that she likes it.

“It’s yours to keep if you want it,” he says but something changes in Scully’s eyes. 

She quickly gets up from the sofa, and Mulder watches her with confusion and curiosity. She gently rips the page from the book, careful not to rip the drawing in the process. Ripping out a blank page, she grabs a pen and begins to scribble something down.

“What are you writing?” Mulder asks, bewildered. 

Scully doesn’t answer, and instead moves away from the table and back to the sofa.

Sitting up again, Mulder asks, “What was that?”

“Just a little something for Phoebe and your father.”

Mulder nervously laughs, unsure if what she’s just done is really a good idea but he ignores it, the consequences don’t matter anyway, his mind is made up already.  
Once this ship docks in New York, he’s getting off with Scully.


	8. Chapter Eight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two updates in one weekend, you are spoiled.

“What happened to her?” asks Scully. They sit at the table, a bowl of grapes shared between them, the sketchbook open and on the first page with the drawing of Mulder’s sister.

“She ran off,” Mulder answers. “One night is was in her bed and the next morning she was gone.” Mulder shrugs. “We think she just ran away and that was the last time I ever got to draw her.”

Scully looks down at the drawing. “It’s like a photograph,” she says. “Why did she run away? Was your home life really that bad?”

“No actually, it was fine.” That surprises her. Scully looks from the drawing to Mulder, disbelieving that the Mulder household could be ‘fine’ when children are running away because of it. “Really,” he says. “They weren’t as bad as they are now, they were even loving once, but then Samantha disappeared and Father grew cold, Mother grew withdrawn. All the happiness faded away.”

Sombre pools in Scully’s chest. “That’s sad,” she says and Mulder nods. She can see him trying to ignore that the event, and the outcome of the event, still affects him twelve years later. He doesn’t hide it very well.  
She thinks of her own family and the necessity to stick together in order for everyone to survive. They didn’t have a choice whether they wanted to drift apart, they couldn’t.

Mulder shifts in his seat, frowns thinking. “They blamed me.” Scully listens. “They never outright said it but I know that they did. My parents were out that night and I was supposed to be looking after her. She disappeared under my watch.”

He doesn’t meet her eyes, and it occurs to Scully that he believes that, believes that he is the blame. Anger replaces the sombre, rage directed at his parents for making Mulder feel like it was all his fault, never denying or confirming this fact, feeling their child without closure.

“You were twelve, Mulder,” Scully says, shaking her head, barely believing that two grown adults could potentially blame a child. “How can they blame you?”

Mulder shrugs again. “It doesn’t matter anyway,” he says, brushing it off. He reaches for the book and closes it, hiding his sister and the secret away. “She’s gone and she’s not coming back.” 

He gets up and moves towards the safe. Scully leans back, still furious at Mulder’s parents but saddened for Mulder himself, for his carrying this unnecessary guilt around, for believing that he is the cause of all the misery.  
“Mulder…” she begins but the door rattles, interrupting her. They both spin to see the door handle move and keys sliding into the lock.

“Who is…?”

Mulder places a finger on his lips, shushing her as his eyes flick to the clock.

“Come on,” he whispers, motioning her to stand. The lock begins to turn as Scully hurries over to where Mulder stands by the adjoining door, a rush of adrenaline surging through her.

Just as their front door opens, Mulder pushes open the adjoining door, dragging Scully through it. She gets a glimpse of a man in a black dinner suit before she’s rushing through the other bedroom and out of his parent’s front door. 

Losing themselves in the crowd of people, Scully turns back to see Krycek staring them down as he slowly strides towards them.

A rush of excitement powers through her. “You ready to run, Mulder?”

He gives her a bewildered look before she grabs his hand and sprints off down the corridor.  
They weave through the labyrinth of corridors, skitter around the flow of people returning from dinner, Krycek only just behind them.

She’s never felt this excited in a long time, missing the childhood act of playing chase. It’s clear Krycek was sent to find Mulder and the consequences they will both suffer just at the notion of being together should worry her, but instead she finds herself exhilarated, free.

They run down the decks, anything to lose Krycek in the crowd, something tells them to stop running but they ignore them, continuing through doors and corridors Scully’s not a hundred percent sure they should be exploring.

They collide with service trolleys, Mulder almost knocks a steward down throwing himself around a corner. The man is unimpressed but Mulder and Scully can only laugh, apologising through bouts of fits before they’re disappearing through another door.

A wave of heat immediately hits her upon entering and Scully knows without a doubt that this is the boiler room and somewhere they should definitely not be.

They clamber down the ladder, the smoke and hot air clouding their vision. They almost pass through undetected, hidden by smoke billowing from the fires until a worker looks up and catches them. His shout of ‘hey’ alerts the other workers as all they begin shouting things at them. Scully feels Mulder’s grip on her hand tighten and, despite the warmth, they begin running through the area before anyone can stop what they’re doing and haul their asses out of there and report them for prohibited entry, Mulder shouting words of encouragement along the way and Scully only being able to laugh.

They reach another door and it’s dark initially, but as soon as the door is shut and they’ve both entered, lights begin to flicker on.

“The cargo hold,” she hears Mulder say.

She begins wandering through the gaps between the cars, marvelling at each one she passes. Each car has been shined and cared for, not a single scratch can be seen one any of them.

“Which is yours?” Scully asks, swirling around to look at Mulder.  
He stalks forward, weaving in and out of the cars just as Scully had done. He stops before a black coloured one.

“This one.” Scully strays over. Once there, a smile passes over him as he opens the door and outstretches his hand to her. “My lady.” 

Going along with his game, she takes his hand and climbs into the car. Inside, she pushes the visor down as Mulder climbs into the front and honks the horn, making Scully giggle.

“Where to, Miss?”  
Leaning forward, Scully rests against her arms, looking up towards the roof of the hold. “To the stars.” 

She looks down from the ceiling to see Mulder smiling at her. With a kiss beforehand, he climbs through the window, just about fitting through and falls against the back seat, pulling Scully with him.

Scully sighs, wrapping herself tighter around Mulder and leans her head against his chest.

Content once more, she says, “We could just stay down here. Nobody would ever find us.” 

Mulder presses a kiss to the top of her head and snuggles against her. “They’d find us eventually.”

“It’s a big ship, it’ll take them the rest of the journey and by then we’d be long gone.”

She shuts her eyes, all the more ready to just fall asleep against him. She feels the scratch of his nails against her arm and it lulls her, soothes her, she could drift away right now.

“When this ship docks, I’m getting off with you, Scully.”  
Scully opens her eyes in disbelief. She’d been joking originally but when she looks up she sees the sincerity in his eyes, the truth. He was getting off this ship with her.

“Mulder…” she starts.

He moves his hand from her arm to clasp with her own hand, entwining their fingers together.

“I don’t care what anyone says. I love you and I can’t go without you.”

The urge to laugh overcomes her. This whole thing is absurd and stupid and is in no way possible. She feels bad, however, when she looks up at him through her laughter to see his face fall, his dreams crushed.

“Mulder,” she moves away from and he folds in one himself, takes her action and laughing as even more rejection from her.

“It was stupid and I shouldn’t have said it,” he answers, beating himself up.

Scully shakes her head. “No, it’s just…we’ve known each other for three days.”  
He smiles a little at that. Maybe he forgets as easily as she does that they only met just days ago even though, for some unexplainable reason, it doesn’t feel longer.

Mulder relaxes, now certified she is no longer rejecting, pulls her to him again.

“I’m right, though,” he says. “You’re the only one that I want to spend the rest of my life with.”

Scully lets those words sink in. She thinks to that first night, how broody and sad he’d looked sat upon the rail, a complete juxtaposition to how he’s been these past two days in her company. He’s laughed and been happy, done stupid things and broken into boiler rooms and cargo holds, risked his father’s wrath just to spend time with her.

She could mention Phoebe, about how she would take this knowledge but Phoebe is history, an already forgotten face in the millions she’s already saw in her life. Phoebe won’t bring Mulder happiness, but Scully will.

She answers with a heated kiss, turning and situating her knees onto either side of his thighs. Lets her tongue explore his mouth and permits his to do the same to hers, allowing the steady pace to grow urgent, get more flustered as they fight with pieces of clothing and strip them from each other’s bodies.

Once divest of clothes, Mulder trails his kisses downwards, focuses on each sensitive spot on his journey. Scully moans when she realises what he has in mind, feels the heat and moisture pool below. 

They switch positions, Scully in the seat and Mulder on his knees in front of her. She forces her eyes to open, to look down and savour the sight before she feels Mulder’s tongue against her, feels the wonders he begins to do to her sensitive flesh.

Her moans fill the hold, reverberating around the room. She soon understand that Mulder is a quicker learner, quickly grasping onto knowing what makes her buck with pleasure, which action has her moaning louder.

When she’s had enough and just wants him inside, she yanks him gently by hair.

He does as she asks and climbs back up her body, landing with his lips against her once again. The taste of herself on his lips makes her feral, makes her need stronger as she pushes him down onto the velvet and climbs on top of him.

Way down below in the pit of the ship, they make love for the second time that day.

Their time in the hold is cut short. Muffled voices waft their way from the boiler. Krycek may have given up finding them himself but it didn’t stop him from sending others to do is dirty work.  
Mulder and Scully scramble to put their clothes back on. She struggles with laces, haphazardly tying them as quickly and as best she can before they hop out of the car.

Their surroundings give them an advantage. Quietly, they scramble around the hold, keeping an eye on the direction of the touch beams and use the cars and other vehicles as means of cover.

Adrenaline kicks in once more as she giddily follows Mulder to the end of the room to the other exit. Once through, they run back up the ladder and decks. They burst their the door to the outside, startling some old woman who stands nearby. They pay no mind, breaking out into bouts of giggles as they allow their breaths to calm down.

Happy and carefree, the music drifting from inside the dining hall, she lets Mulder swirl her around and when the adrenaline of their night runs out and her skin begins to cool, Scully shivers. Mulder pulls her closer, wrapping himself around her to warm her up and Scully accepts. She’ll never get enough of being in his presence.

“You don’t need to worry about us only having known each other for three days,” Mulder says against her hair, recalling their conversation from earlier. “We’ve still got four more days to learn more.”

Scully pulls away, smiling. She moves to her tiptoes ready to kiss his beautiful face off before a ringing above them surprises them, a shout from atop of the tower.  
“ICEBERG AHEAD!”

They barely have time to react before their side of the ship collides with a mountain of thick ice. The ship is slowed down considerably, the sound of metal scraping against ice making Scully cringe.

Mulder yanks Scully out of the way as the railing cuts through the thinner pieces of ice as they fall onto the deck.

Scully stands frozen in place, unbelieving of what she just saw. Passengers and Mulder rush to the side, trying to get a look at the possible damage done.

An icy feel runs through Scully that has nothing to do with the cold weather. Distantly, she hears Mulder call her over and on autopilot she goes, standing beside him.

“Do you think it’s done much damage?” he asks but Scully hardly acknowledges his voice. Her father once told her what happens when an iceberg hits a ship, how it rips through the metal like paper, creating tiny holes for water to seep into it.

“Scully?” Mulder asks again.

It doesn’t matter what level of damage has been done, water is already leaking into the ship.  
She walks away, her eyes darting around the deck, landing on the lifeboats she can see decorating the area. Twenty lifeboats, she’d overheard earlier. Twenty. She feels sick.

“Scully, you’re scaring me…”

Scully spins, suddenly in override mode, a gush of emotions ranging from wanting to laugh to wanting to cry.

“There’s only twenty lifeboats. Each lifeboat can fit sixty to seventy people on it at a push. There’s, what? Three thousand or so people on board?” She does the math in her head, a series of numbers and estimations flying around. “one thousand, one hundred, and fifty people so people can fit on the boats.” She angry now, angry at their stupidity, angry that she’s the only one who can see what’s happening here. “One thousand, one hundred, and fifty people, Mulder,” she repeats, homing that number into him. “Out of three thousands. More than half are going to die.”

She watches as he processes this information, almost disbelieving what she’s saying.

“No,” he refuses. “They said she couldn’t sink.”

Something within Scully snaps.

“She’s a heap of metal, Mulder, of course she can fucking sink!” she shouts. The people around them stare at them, the kids kicking around the ice debris stop as they begin muttering to each other. Scully ignores them, ready to go off, wondering how people can be so stupid.

“What did you think they did? Cast a bastard spell to warn off that thing?” She carelessly motions to the iceberg taunting them from the distance.

“No, I just thought…” he begins but the words die on his tongue.  
Scully tries to calm down. To relax and be level-headed about this.

“I need to tell my family, Scully. They need to know.” 

“They probably already do,” Scully says, calmer now.

“They won’t know about the lifeboats. You need to tell them.” 

Scully nods. They make their way back to the door, heading back down to the first class accommodation.


	9. Chapter Nine

Mulder’s head was swimming, his brain couldn’t comprehend the knowledge as he strides towards his room. Scully is quiet beside him but she is still shimmering with rage, with fear and concern.

Her brother is downstairs.

The realisation hits him like a ton of bricks. She should be down with him, making sure he’s okay, not running around with him.

He stops with a sudden halt, Scully crashes into him.

“Mulder…”

“Go downstairs, Scully,” he says, spinning to face her. “Go check on Charlie.”

She’s speechless for a second, maybe she’s only just remembering this to. He sees that she’s about to turn around, to do as he says, but stops herself, shaking her head.

“He’ll be fine, they’ve probably already started the evacuation process.”

Right, there’s procedure for this kind of thing. Word that they have hit an iceberg gets around quickly, every member of staff will know what’s happened and they’ll know how to get everyone to the top decks safely.

The two proceed with their journey, a steward hurriedly runs down the corridor, Mulder knows Scully an uneasy look.

The destination is reached soon enough. There’s no time for manners, no time for knocking on doors and waiting to be let in, it’s Mulder’s room after all.

It doesn’t surprise him to find it already unlocked and pushes it open. His family, and Krycek, turn to look at him.

“There you are. Hungry? You missed dinner after all,” Father says, his eyes widen when Scully appears from behind Mulder. “What is she doing here, Fox?”

Mulder dismisses his father. “We don’t have time for all that. The ship hit an iceberg, that’s what I’m here to tell you.”

“Yes, I heard. I didn’t think that was true. Anyway, there’s a matter that I need to discuss with you—” 

“It is true,” Mulder says, interrupting. “We were there. We saw it happen.”

“It’s not bad, is it?” asks Phoebe. Mulder hears the genuine concern in her voice. 

He looks to Scully, wondering what to say. Scully remains quiet and emotionless beside him.

He turns back to Phoebe, answering as honestly as he can. “We don’t know,” he says. “What we do know is that the lifeboats only have more for a thousand and something people. There’s a lot more than that on board, more than half will die.”

Entirely preoccupied with Phoebe’s expression, how she mulls this information over with what seems to be distress he wonders for a second if he hears his father right.

“Not the better half, at least.”

If Scully’s energy had dulled out during this conversation, it’s cranked right back up to a thousand at the throwaway comment.

“How can you say that?”

Phoebe gasps. “But they said it couldn’t sink!” She wanders from the bed to the vanity, sitting herself down into the chair by it.

“I’ll get more information,” says Krycek, edging away from the wall. “If the ship is about to flood, we best make sure we’re not on it when it happens.” He walks towards the door, brushing against Scully in the process.

“Right, all that aside I want to discuss a certain unwanted gift I received upon entering the room—”

“It’s gone!” Phoebe cries, cutting Bill off. Mulder has no time to jump from the first issue to the second.

“What is?” he asks.

“One of my perfume bottles.”

“Are you sure?” asks Mother.

“Yes, I had six laid out and there’s only five here.” Her head whirls towards Scully’s direction. “You took it,” she accuses.

Mulder turns to look at Scully, dumbstruck over this entire situation. The look on her face tells him that she is as much confused as he is, speechless.

“I…I didn’t take anything!” 

“You did when Fox brought you in here to draw that disgusting portrait of you.”   
Mulder turns back to his father. In his hands he holds a folded piece of paper. An act of recklessness, a display of rebellion and his father holds the evidence in his hands, just as they wanted.

“I didn’t take your stupid perfume,” argues Scully.

“The note that was left was a nice touch indeed. Now you can keep us both captive and who’s clever idea was it to write that?” asks Bill.

Mulder looks to Scully.

“I thought as much.” Bill heads over to the fireplace, throwing the drawing into the flames. Mulder watches the embers curl the paper. A masterpiece falling to pieces.

“Can somebody search her at least!” Phoebe exclaims.

There was too much to process; the ship might be sinking, his father knows about their tryst and Scully’s just been accused of stealing. His head hurts.

“I’ll get someone to fetch the master-at-arms,” Mother says, running over to the door.

“I haven’t taken anything, Phoebe,” Scully helplessly disputes. Mulder makes eye contact with her and gently shakes his head, it’s a losing battle.

“Turn out your pockets then,” Father instructs just as Mother re-enters, telling them that the master-at-arms was on his way.

Mulder watches as Scully fists her hands into her skirt pockets. Her eyes widen and Mulder’s stomach drops to the floor, knowing what she knows.

Slowly, Scully drags out a vital.

“I told you!” Phoebe screams. “I told you she had it!”

Scully is gobsmacked, shaking her head as she stares at the vital disbelief. “I didn’t put that in there.”

“So you’re saying it just magically appeared there?” 

Mulder doesn’t know what to believe. He racks through his memories of earlier. Had there been any point where he’d left her alone? Only when she had gotten undressed but she was in the bedroom then. She was looking at the perfumes, seemed extremely interested in them, did she take it then? She could of…

“What seems to be the problem then?”   
Mulder turns his head to see an older man standing in the doorway.

“There’s been a case of thieving going on,” Father explains. The man looks around the room before his eyes narrow on Scully, completely out of place in her plain peasant clothes.

“This one did it I take it?” the man asks. “Is that what she stole?” He motions to the bottle she still holds in her hands.

“According to my daughter-in-law, yes,” says Bill.

The man swipes the bottle out of Scully’s hands, handing it back to Phoebe.

“They always try,” the man says, taking out a pair of handcuffs and pulling Scully’s arms behind her back.

“They put it in there! That Krycek did when he walked past me.”

The man only laughs. “And the tales that this ship is currently filling up with water are true.” He turns to address Father then. “I’m sorry for your time wasted.” He begins to drag Scully towards the door. “You shan’t be seeing her again after this.” 

“I didn’t take it, Mulder, I swear! They put it in there. You know they did!”  
Mulder doesn’t know what happened. He didn’t see. He didn’t see her take it earlier and he didn’t see Krycek put anything into his pocket. He didn’t see.

Mulder stares at the floor, flabbergasted at the whole scenario. Father strays over to him, placing a hand upon his shoulder.

“I’m sorry it had to come out this way, Fox,” he says. “The ones we love always hurt us the most. You’re free of her now.”

Mulder says nothing, he just watches as Phoebe places the perfume bottle back in its place, a sly smile across her face.

This was ridiculous.

The ship was currently filling up with water and all these people can care about is stupid perfume bottles.

It’s typical. Typical rich people and unable to get their priorities straight.

Scully should’ve known better.

And Mulder.

He knows she’s didn’t take anything, he was there for Christ’s sake and yet nothing, he did nothing to defend her.

She tries not to be hurt, to change that hurt into understanding maybe he was just as confused as she was.

Or maybe he believed she’d taken the bottle anyway.

Scully adjusts her wrists, the handcuffs cutting into her skin. Fury rushes through her when she eyes Krycek leaning against a door, a smug smile across his face. He knocked into her. He put the bottle in her pocket.

“They finally caught you, did they?”

Scully glares at him as she’s dragged into the office. “You put it in there,” she says to him.

Krycek just cocks his head slightly. “Did I?”

Scully’s pulled into the office. Through a doorway is a bedroom, in much of the same style as all third class accommodation. The office is plain; a desk, a pinboard, a cupboard full of different keys. A place for criminals of the minor offenses to be held until they dock. Or until they drown.  
The master-of-arms briefly unlocks the bracelet, tugging Scully’s wrists up as he wraps the chain around a pipe then clips the cuff back around her wrists.

“I didn’t do it,” Scully says again. There’s no fight in her voice, no energy, she just wants someone to listen to her story, that’s all she wants.

But the man just ignores her.

“Now, you just stay nice and snug there, Miss Scully, we’ll sort this out later.” 

Scully just rolls her eyes. There’s not going to be a later, does nobody understand that?

“Sir,” says a steward appearing from around the doorframe and out of breath. “There’s an issue in the third class. They need you.” 

The master at arms eyes Scully with hesitation. She looks aimlessly back, her eyes flicking between the officer and Krycek.

“I can stay with her,” Krycek says. Scully looks away, annoyance flooding through her at the thought of Krycek being the person she’s about to spend her last hours with.

“I’ll be right back,” the master at arms says before he’s following the steward out of the office.

With one last attempt, Scully sighs, “I didn’t do it.”

The boy sits down at the desk, his feet immediately propped up and a gleefully smile across his face. He’s enjoying every second of this.

“I know,” he says. “But they all believe you did; the officers. Mulder.” 

A twinge of pain pangs in Scully’s chests. No matter what excuses she came up for Mulder, the truth was clear; he didn’t believe her, and having it be outed aloud just solidifies it for her.

Scully stares out of the porthole, not that she can see anything but her own reflection. A tornado of emotions spin within her. She’s about to die, handcuffed to a pipe, on a ship she never asked to be on, being accused for a crime she didn’t commit.

She could kill Charlie for his stupid ideas.

Charlie…She wonders where he is. Did he feel the collision? Is he heading towards top deck? 

There’s an issue in third class. Is Charlie apart of that issue?   
Worry for her brother joins the already busy tornado of emotions.

“That picture…” Krycek says, and God, could he just shut up so she can die in peace, please? “Shame such a body’s going to be wasted.” 

Scully doesn’t bother hiding her disgust; she hates him; his stupid face, his stupid grin, his stupid mouth always having something to say.

But then what he’s just said hits her. Her disgust melting away for a second, she turns to him.

“You believe the ship is going to sink?” 

He shrugs. “You and Mulder seem to.”

“That’s because it is. In about an hour or so. Half the people with it.” 

“Guess I should go upstairs then.” He’s up and out before Scully can call him back to free her. It’s no use, it’s what these people wanted after all, her away from Mulder- it’s just an added bonus that she dies.

With one last hopeless shake of the handcuffs, Scully allows her head to fall against the pipe, preparing herself for her fate.

Mulder’s head is buzzing, absorbing everything that’s happened in the last hour. Had it really been an hour since he was running about the ship with Scully? It seems ages ago. Time seems to have stopped existing on here, days turning into years, minutes turning into hours. Is there going to be a moment where it all rushes together and there’s no time at all?

They make their way down the staircase. The main reception is flooded with almost all passengers from first class. Much to Mulder’s bewilderment the band still plays and people still drink and carry on as if their lives weren’t in possible danger.

“How long’s this going to last for?” one woman asks a steward clearly trying to hurry past and has no time for anyone’s stupid questions. 

“Not long. Just a precaution,” the steward says before he’s hurrying along through the crowds.

“It’s the English and doing everything by the book,” Bill scorns, shaking his head.

“Go back to the rooms and turn the heaters on,” Mother says to her maids. “You know how cold those rooms get.” 

Mulder watches with disgust as the maids do as their told and head back to the rooms.  
Congratulations, Mother, you may have just killed them.

“And bring Tuppence her toy!” Phoebe shouts up to them.  
In response to her name, the dog yaps happily. Mulder stares at it.

“You know, they don’t let dogs on the lifeboats? They take up room.” 

Phoebe looks at him as if he’s just told her that she has to kill the mutt right there and then.

“Don’t be mean, Fox,” Father scolds.

Phoebe hugs Tuppence closer to her body. “She’s tiny. If we have to get on a lifeboat, she can sit on my knee.” 

Mulder just shrugs a whatever and turns away to watch the other side of the room.

“I don’t think anyone knows what the hell’s going on around here,” a dark haired woman says from across the room. Mulder thinks her name is Reyes or something, they planned to have her at their table at some point.

Through the window, Mulder spies a gathering of people, an officer talking to them to preparations to lower the lifeboat.  
“Come on,” he says, turning back to his family. “They’re starting to lower the boats.” 

Mulder leads the way to outside, joining the formation of people. Around him he hears shouts of Women and children first! He watches as people begin boarding the boats; some calm, warming themselves with the knowledge that they’ll be back on the ship in no time, some children cry as their torn away from their fathers and one wife tries to drag her husband with her only to be pulled apart by one of the crewmen in the lifeboat.

There’s a sense of urgency that doesn’t go unnoticed by Mulder. Flares go off around him as boats begin their decent to the water. He knows what others don’t; the lifeboats aren’t returning, this is it.

Preparations for the next boat begin underway and Mulder pulls Phoebe forward, a sudden need to get her and his mother on one that goes beyond the need for their safety, there’s something else and he knows it begins with S.

“Right, come on now,” the officer instructs. The louder woman from before is the first to board, urging the less certain to join her.

Mulder nudges Phoebe forward.

“I don’t want to,” she says, her hand wrapping tighter around Mulder’s arm.  
“You need to,” Mulder tells her, pushing her forward. Phoebe, however, fights back, stays rooted to her spot.

“No. I want to go back to my room.” She spins to face Mulder. “Take me back!” she demands.

Mulder can only laugh- at her stupidity, at her arrogance, he can just laugh.

“There’s going to be no room to go back to soon. You need to get on the boat, Phoebe.”

Still, Phoebe just looks at him like he’s spoken another language.

“No room to go back to?”

He tries not to let his annoyance seep through. Tries to be as gentle as he can with her, at least for this last time, then he never has to see her again.

Mulder’s made up his mind.

“Phoebe, the ship will sink. Look around you, look at the urgency. They don’t have time for you to decide whether you’re getting on the boat or not. There’s not enough lifeboats to do that with, you either get on one now or you don’t and you drown. They are your options.”  
It’s a shock to the system for someone to speak to her so directly, to tell her the truth as gruesome or as hurtful as it may be and as she tries to process this information, she just looks constipated.

“Will the lifeboats be seated according to class?”

Mulder looks away from Phoebe to glare at his mother. He says nothing, just allows the anger to wash through his body. He turns back to Phoebe.

“Please, Phoebe,” he pleads. For Scully’s life, “Just get on the boat.” 

Phoebe nods, turning back to the lifeboat. Mulder taps the officer.

“Let her keep the dog,” he says. The officer is about to argue, his mouth opens but is closing as quickly. He nods.

“Teena will take Tuppence,” says Reyes, reaching out her hand to Phoebe. “I’ll help you.” 

Mulder watches as Phoebe and more after her is loaded onto the boat and the boat begins to be lowered down before he’s turning away, his destination in mind.

“Where are you going?” he hears his father call from behind him. A hand reaches out. “Fox? Fox!”  
Immediately, Mulder shrugs it off. “Get off me!” he says, spinning to face the man he calls his father.

Bill looks at him shocked, before recovering, that cold demeanor returning. 

“Where are you going?” Mulder says nothing, allowing his silence to be his answer.

“You’re going to her, aren’t you?” Bill asks and still Mulder says nothing. Bill laughs. “She stole from your wife and still you’re choosing her. I didn’t realise I’d raised a stupid little boy.” 

His fists clenching, mind swilling, Mulder shouts, “She didn’t steal anything!” A few people nearby turn towards them. Mulder ignores them. Bill, however, was never blessed with that ability and looks around at the faces subconsciously.

“We both know it was Krycek who put it in there.”

Bill just smiles. “Yes, it was. Of course, not that that matters. Who are they going to believe? A wealthy first class man or a whore from third class?” 

Immediately after the words are uttered spit is flying out of Mulder’s mouth and onto Bill’s face, just as Mulder’s third class whore taught him.  
His father’s face swivels up in disgust as he wipes the saliva from his cheek.

“You two are a pair, aren’t you?” 

“And we’re still better than you.”

With that, Mulder takes up, not sparring any more thoughts for his father. Phoebe’s on a boat so at least she’ll survive for the most part. His only concern now was Scully, of finding her and freeing her and apologising over and over again for being such an idiot.


	10. Chapter Ten

The ship is sinking.

The water is surely climbing its way up now, people will be making their way to the top deck, people will be running by this room.

But Scully has yet to hear a thing. No one’s came down this corridor. What’s even along this corridor aside from this office and maybe a few storage closets? 

She glances outside the porthole, to water. Scully could see out of this earlier, just along the water’s surface.

This is bad.  
In one last hopeless plea that someone is near enough to hear her, she bangs the chain against the pipe, screaming as loud as she can.

“Can someone help me!” 

Still, there’s not a soul around.

And where is Mulder?

Probably on a lifeboat, sailing away from any danger, a nasty voice far back in her mind answers. Scully shakes the bitter noise away. She has to focus on herself before this gets very bad.

She tries everything in that moment; scrunching her hand up to see if they’ll fit through the holes, hanging her weight off the chain to see if it’ll break, but the chain is solid metal, the bracelets made well enough that nobody but a magician could get out of them. And Scully is no magician.

She slumps against the pipe, wrists aching, hands hurting.

“This is bad,” she says, her eyes closing in defeat. 

Her heart freezes when she hears the faint sound of water sloshing. Eyes opening quicker than they closed, she watches the water begin to creep in from beneath the door.

“Mary, Jesus, and Joseph,” she cries, immediately moving her arms to the stop of the pipe and beginning to climb as more water slips in.

It moves as a speed despite the pressure, in minutes this room will be swimming. 

In a desperate attempt, Scully tries breaking the cuffs again, beating them, metal against metal. 

The water slowly begins to rise, dislodging the furniture from its place in the room. In minutes this entire room will be submerged, Scully with it.

“Come on…come on…” she repeats as a mantra, the banging of metal, her cries, and the sound of water the only noise to be heard throughout the corridor.

Until.

Scully! Scully!

At first she’s unsure if she’s heard it right, yet relief spreads through her all the same. 

There’s only one person in the entire of Titanic to call her by her last name.

Mulder.

The water now approaching her knees, Scully climbs onto the table, the buoyancy will keep her afloat for much longer.

“…Scully!” 

“Mulder!” she shouts back in response. “Mulder, I’m in here!”

Her eyes stay fixed on the door that’s just partially open, praying the incoming water keeps it that way.

“Scully…” she hears Mulder call again but it sounds further away.

“Mulder, I need you to follow my voice!” she calls back, trying to guide him to her. “Just follow my voice and keep shouting!”

“Scully!” 

Good, it sounds near now.

“Keep moving forward, Mulder. There’s an open door, I’m in here!” 

She sits on the desk now, floating above the water that still continues to rise. As she looks around for something Mulder can use to break the handcuffs, it’s the first time she notices the slight tilt in the room. If her geography is correct, the front of the ship will go down first. They need to get to the back.

“Scully!” 

Mulder stands in the doorway, as real as this sinking is, and Scully finally allows the hope for survival to return. Relief floods through her as her body finally relaxes.

“Mulder…”

He pushes various bits of furniture out of the way, coming to a stop in front of her.

Instantly she feels his lips descend onto hers. Scully melts into the kiss, comforted by the fact that she now isn’t alone in this watery hell.

She lets them kiss for a bit longer before allowing reality to set back in. 

They pull away, foreheads falling against each other. Scully allows herself this moment to just draw strength from Mulder, to finally understand that she’s no longer alone, that for now it’s the two of them. 

She briefly lets the fear go.

“I’m sorry I didn’t believe you. I should of,” Mulder whispers and Scully smiles slightly, shaking her head.

“Don’t worry about that now.” She lifts her head up, shaking her still handcuffed hands. “You need to find a key or something.” 

The water is a lot deeper now, almost up to Mulder’s chest. Scully doesn’t even want to think of where it’ll come up for her.

“A key, right.” Mulder moves away from her, headed towards the key cabinet and throwing open the doors. “What colour was it?” 

“Brass, I think.”

“Brass…brass…There’s no brass key!”

The panic begins to set in again. Her eyes dart about the room, looking for anything that can be used to break the cuffs. She spins around, losing the buoyancy of the table in her rush to find something, yelping as the cold water brushes against her leg as she fights not to fall in.

Mulder is there, grasping a hand out and steading the table, allowing Scully to regain her balance.

Slower this time, Scully continues to look around the room. As she scans past the door, something red catches her eye.

An axe.

“There!” she shouts, pointing towards the door. “The axe.” Mulder follows her point, seeing what she sees then quickly turns back to her.

“Are you sure?” he asks.

The room continues to fill, getting deeper and deeper as time is wasted.

“Yes!” Scully all but cries. “Go!”

Her eyes do not move from Mulder as he paddles his way out of the room, breaking the glass with his fists and yanking the axe from its case. He re-enters, axe in hand and Scully prepares herself, spreads her arms as much as she can with what little leeway the chain gives her.

“Go on,” she encourages, biting down on the panic and nerves. If this goes wrong, this is going to hurt.

Mulder looks straight into her eyes, asking, “You trust me?” 

For some insane reason she does, she really does. “Yes, I trust you.”

He nods, poises the axe in the air and swings. At the last second Scully shuts her eyes, preparing herself for the pain and the blood.

The axe collides with the chain, breaking the metal in half and lodging itself within the pipe. 

Scully can’t believe it, he did it. She opens her eyes, catches Mulder’s equally surprised expression. Now free, she pulls him into her, hugging and thanking him over and over again. His arms fold around her, holding her tight against him.

“We need to go,” he says pulling away.

He’s right, they don’t have long and they have four decks to climb up before they can get on a lifeboat.

Mulder helps her down into the water and Scully has never felt cold like it- it burns her nerves, stabbing every place imaginable.

“Shit!” she cries, how the hell has Mulder been standing in this for so long?

“I know, come on.” He grabs onto her hand and Scully notices she can’t touch the floor without going under. She tries to remain calm, to not let that panic overwhelm her. Just keep hold of Mulder and once they are off E-Deck they should be safe.

Grasping hold of Mulder’s hand, Scully half swims-half paddles her way out of the office.

“Shit, the exits blocked,” she hears Mulder say above the torrent of water bursting through the door at the end of the corridor. She sees it too, a wave of pressured water that would kill them alone.

The lights flicker above, the electricity struggling to stay one against the onslaught of ice-cold water, combined with the creaking as Titanic struggles to withstand the added weight, it makes for an incredibly eerie setting.

“Come on, there’s got to be another way out,” Scully shouts above the waves. She takes the lead, heading in the opposite direction and into the darkness ahead.

It’s a labyrinth. A maze of cabins and storage rooms. Whoever designed the Titanic never intended for it to be an easy escape.

Scully sighs in frustration at yet another dead end and to make matters worse they were still on E-Deck.

“This is stupid!” she cries, kicking the door and sighing once more in frustration.

“You hear that?” Mulder asks.

Scully stops huffing and puffing for a moment to listen.

“This way. Go down there and to you’re left, now…Stop running! You’re not allowed to run down the corridors! This way, Miss.”

A smile begins spreading across Scully’s face, never has she been more happy to near another’s voice. She moves towards the door, pressing her ear against it.

“There’s a corridor on the other side of this door,” she says and Mulder nods.

Still, there is one more issue.

“So how do we get through it?” 

Mulder smiles, “I just broke metal, woods gonna be no issue for me.” 

Scully watches as Mulder repeatedly slams his shoulder against the wooden door.

“That’s White Starline Property,” she says, a smirk across her face. There’s no humour in it really.

“Don’t you start, as well.” 

It takes a few more slams of the shoulder, Scully helping out towards the end but eventually the wood snaps and they both fall through to the other corridor.

Briskly, they start fast-walking their way to an exit. Down the corridor and to the left, as the man said.

“Oi!” A voice behind them shouts, different to the one earlier.   
“That’s White Starline Property, you’ll have to pay for that, you know.” It was funnier when Scully said it because she hadn’t meant it like this imbecile shouting at them. 

Ever in sync, Mulder and Scully spin at the same time, both huffing out an annoyed Shut up! to the boy-steward. They don’t wait to gauge the lad’s reaction before they’re turning the corridor to…

A mob of third class passengers. 

“We just want a chance, for god’s sake, let us through!” an Irish man shouts at the top of his lungs. He and a few others occupy the very front of the rally, many of the other passengers egging them on as they shout at the stewards on the other side of the gate.

Bastards have locked the gates, Scully realises.

“Count on the Irish to start a riot,” Mulder jokes though his worry at their current situation sweeps through as he looks around for another way out.

“I think this time it’s justified,” says Scully, also looking for another way free. In the corner stands a mother and her two children. The boy tugs against his mother’s coat.

Scully doesn’t hear what the lad asks but hears the mother response.

“Soon. Their just getting the first class people onto the boats, and then they’ll be starting with us.” 

Scully’s heart breaks in two at the false hope. She wonders what one would say in this situation, what she would say if she had children. Lie like this woman has or tell the truth? That they’re not getting out any time soon.

Her attention is diverted when she hears a familiar voice shout through the crowd.  
“Aye, you just want to safe the first class bastards, forget about the poor stuck at the bottom, you slimy gits!”

Relief floods through her at the sound of Charlie’s voice. He’s alive. 

For now.

She watches the red-headed boy push away from the gate and force his way through the crowd. Defeated and hopeless, Scully reaches out to him.

“Charlie!”

Immediately, the boy perks up at the sound of his voice. He spies her instantly, running the last couple of steps towards them.

“Dana.” He collapses into her embrace instantly, no longer needing to be the riot-leader and can just be the younger brother sourcing comfort from his older sister in a time of panic.

“It’s no use, Dee,” Charlie says against her. “There not letting anyone through.” 

Still hugging her brother, Scully looks anxiously towards Mulder. Reading her request just simply through her look, Mulder jostles his way through the people. Scully ends her embrace, brushing past Charlie to follow Mulder up the stairs.

“You have to wait your turn,” one of the stewards say. “They’re not ready for you to board yet.” 

“You have to let us through,” Mulder says, speaking over their script. “These people deserve a chance to live.” 

“You have to wait your turn, they’re not ready for you yet.”

“Jesus Christ, man!” Scully speaks up, angered by the handling of this situation. “There’s women and children down here!”

But the steward refuses to deviate from his script. His constant condescending voice riles Scully. She grasps her fingers around the gate’s bars and furiously shakes them, making her anger known to the stewards and people around them. She doesn’t even bother to listen to their Now stop that, or we won’t let you through at all respond before she’s launching herself down the stairs.

“See, it’s hopeless,” says Charlie. 

Scully wasn’t prepared to die by being handcuffed to a pipe, and she isn’t prepared to die stuck behind a gate. Adrenaline and anger surging through her, she looks around for some implement to use to break all the steward’s faces when she finds something better.  
“Charlie, help me with this bench,” she instructs, bending to grasp the bench.

“You cannae be serious, Dana?” Charlie says, his eyes wide with shock at his sister’s irrationalism.

“Do you want to live?” 

Charlie does as he’s told, gaining a hold on the bench. A few others around them, including the first Irish to shout before, realises what they are planning to do and all pitch in to help, grabbing the middle.

“Ready,” says Scully. “One…two…three…” Together, the four of them rip the bench from the floor. Using all her strength, Scully positions the bench to her chest, ready to ram it against the gate.

The stewards realise what their doing, her eyes widening with shock as the insistent stewards yells at them to stop and put that bench down. They ignore him, and all together bash the bench against the gate as the stewards make a run for it. People cheer them on, Mulder keeps the path clear as they ram the bench into the gate twice more before the flimsy metal snaps and a hole is created.

They begin jumping through. Mulder helps Scully over and they run through D-Deck. They run for their lives.


	11. Chapter Eleven

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a heads up that this fic is going to be thirteen chapters long.

A-Deck is just as chaotic as everywhere else on the ship. People swarm the areas closest to the boats, officers and crewmen struggle to keep the oncoming flock from boarding the lifeboats. They struggle to keep order.

“How many lifeboats did you say there were, Scully?”

“Twenty. There’ll be less now, though.” 

It’s a fact that they can see before their eyes as they look over the sides to see a small litter of lifeboats rowing away. 

“Does that mean they’re all gone?” Charlie asks. Scully can see the worry in his eyes, as much as he tries to hide it in front of Mulder, it’s there.

“Skinner!” Mulder suddenly shouts. Scully twists to see Mulder running towards a bald-headed man. 

“Are there any lifeboats left?”

“I think there still loading the last few at the top of the deck.”

That’s all that’s needed before Mulder is grabbing hold of Scully’s hand. 

Just ahead she can see the front of the ship. It looks completely unnatural to see the downward tilt it has. They don’t have long before the front will be entirely submerged and water begins flooding their only rescue. 

“Music to drown by,” she hears Charlie say behind her. “Now I know I’m in first class.” 

Scully hadn’t noticed the band yet when she looks behind her, there they are, practically standing in the way and still playing as they did at dinner.

You’d think somebody would tell them to stop.

“Are there any more women and children?” a voice shouts as they approach closer to the boats. Children have already began to cry as their placed into the lifeboats, some desperately trying to keep a hold on their fathers as they’re pulled out of their embrace.

“You stay on this boat with Mummy,” a father closest to them says. “I’ll be getting on the next boat, the boat for the daddy’s.” Yet still the child continues to cry as the boat is lowered down.

Scully looks around the deck. Skinner had been right, there were only a few boats left, all having survivors in as the last of the dregs climb in. Eighteen lifeboats down, she counts. Only the collapsible boats left and that’s it. Suddenly the casualty count becomes as clear as the sky above them is; there’s going to be more fatalities tonight then survivors.

A shiver runs through Scully.

“Are there any more women and children?” The officer looks pointedly at Scully and she finds herself frozen to the spot, unable to move.

“Go on, Scully,” Mulder urges, slightly pushing her forward.

Scully stumbles but she stops herself before she can go any further. These are the last boats, there are still women and children on the ship, still needing to board. She looks towards Mulder acutely aware that survival rate had nothing to do with class this time around.

It was all to do with gender.

“Charlie, you go,” Scully says, tugging onto her brother’s arm and pulling him forward.

“Don’t be ridiculous, this is for you, I’ll get the next one,” Charlie protests, retching free of her grasp.

“Get on the boat now,” Scully orders.

“How old is he?” the officer asks, eyeing Charlie up suspiciously.

“Fifteen…?” Scully answers, unable to fully process the officer’s question.

Her uncertain response does nothing to help the situation. “Stand up straight, lad,” the officer commands and Charlie does as told. “Got any identification on you?” 

Scully can barely believe that this is happening. The ship is sinking, did he really think they had time to care about ID?

“He’s fifteen, a child, let him on!” Scully, affirms. This was wasting time.

“I don’t sir,” Charlie answers.

The officer nods. “He can wait his turn. Anybody else?”   
Scully has no time to argue before Mulder is pushing her forward again.

“I’ll make sure he gets on a boat, Scully, go.”

“I’ll make sure we all get on a boat.” 

Scully turns to see Bill Mulder standing just away but close enough to have heard their conversation. He saunters forward. “You broke free of your handcuffs, I see,” he comments, eyeing up the chainless bracelets still attached to wrists.

“Looks like I’m a hard one to kill,” says Scully. If there’s anyone on this ship she wants dead its this man before her.

“You should get on the boat, Miss Scully, survival for your lot can be a bit hard to come by.” 

“Come on, Miss,” says the officer, back to being Mr-Nice-Guy. 

Scully tears her gaze from one Mulder to the other.

“Go,” he encourages. “I’ll see you later. We both will,” he says, Charlie beside him nods.

Despite every ounce of her being telling her no, Scully takes the officer’s hand as he gently helps her into the boat.

She sits down on the bench, momentarily frozen as those around her eye her up cautiously, take in her less-than-grand appearance, her still wet dress, and finally the handcuffs still on her wrists.

“Lower away!” the officer commands. The boat jostles, startling women beside her as they cry out in response. Scully keeps her eyes glued to Mulder as everything else floats away, and somebodies turned down the sound as the children cry silently, waving to their fathers above and so desperately does Scully want to cry, she has a sudden urge to cry and scream at the injustice at it all; the passengers locked behind the gate in third class, the men not allowed to board even though the front end of the ship has already gone under, even though they have minutes left.

She wants to cry for Mulder. He’ll get Charlie on a boat, she trusts him to do that, but there’ll be no boat for Mulder. His fate sealed.

Another thing controlled by someone else.

And that’s what makes her do it. B-Deck approaches and she leaps from the lifeboat back onto the ship and she must have lost all rationality now as people scramble to help her over the side.

There’s no time for a thank you- would one even thank a person for pulling them back onto a doomed ship anyway- there’s only one place she needs to be at.

So Scully runs through the deck, through the people and towards the rising water. She propels herself around the corner and through the doors to B-Deck foyer just in time to see Mulder running down the stairs towards her.

“Why did you do that?!” he’s shouting at her but they’re also hugging and his kisses litter her face, smothering every ounce of skin they can reach, repeating; “You’re so stupid, Dana. You’re so fucking stupid!” But still Mulder continues to kiss her and Scully finds herself laughing, momentarily feeling what it must be like to be insane. She just jumped back onto a sinking ship for Christ’s sake.

Mulder is still murmuring that she’s an idiot, that she should have stayed on the lifeboat, and maybe she should of, in a parallel universe she made that choice.

“You really are stupid, aren’t you?” 

Scully’s blood runs cold at the sound of Bill Mulder’s voice from above. 

She pulls away from Mulder, keeping tight hold of his hand, as she watches Mr Mulder walk down the stairs.

“You have condemned my son to death with that stupid action. There was a deal over on the other side, an officer was saving me a seat. One ask and Fox could have joined, too, now…” Bill Mulder chuckles to himself. “Now you’ve just killed him.”

“He’s lying, Scully,” Mulder says, diverting her attention to him. “There was no deal.” 

“If you say so.”

There’s no doubt in Scully’s mind that Bill Mulder had managed to pay his way onto a lifeboat and that yes, with one word Mulder would also be on there. She turns away from Bill then, looking at Mulder and she could- should- let him go, give him a chance he may not get otherwise but she knows just by looking at him that he’ll refuse, the hardness in his eyes telling her so.

Instead, she grips his hand tighter. “There’s still the collapsible boats,” she says, dragging Mulder past his father and past Krycek who stands near the top, watching.

There’s the sudden impulse to push him down the stairs, but she decides against it. They’ll both be long gone soon anyway.

A-Deck once again greets them with chaos. The final lifeboat as capsized, people around them scream as water has flooded everywhere but the final three decks, the remaining officers shout orders, telling people to cut the ropes.

In the confusion of it all, Charlie is nowhere to be seen, Scully’s top priority right now.

“Mulder, where did Charlie go?” she shouts above the noise.

Mulder looks around, faces blur together, everything does and doesn’t look like Charlie.

“Maybe he got on a lifeboat,” he says.

There’s no time to look anymore as people begin running towards them, the water behind them quickly approaching, the capsized lifeboat floats away and the water claims the people not quick enough to move out of its path, tossing them overboard.

The tilt of the front end of the ship becomes more prominent every second.

“Mulder, we need to get to the back of the ship!” 

They begin their uphill sprint, their hands entwined the whole time as they help each other up, climbing over the railings. As Scully swings herself over the final one, her foot snags on the hem of her skirt causing her to lose her balance and fall face-first onto the decking floor.

The funnel’s gonna fall! someone in the far distance shouts.

Scully’s body collides with the floor, the funnel crashes into the sea.

“Scully!” Mulder cries.

As she hits the hard wood, a dark emotion she can only akin to grief pools in her chest.

She has no time to ponder upon its meaning however as the ship begins to sink further and further, the stern of the ship continuing itself descent upwards. Scully feels begin to slide down the deck, fingers trying to grasp onto something.

“Mulder!” she shouts and Mulder is there, one hand wrapped around a Bullard and the other outstretched towards her. Scully reaches up, grasping hold as she hauls herself back up to standing.

The deck becomes steeper. Mulder throws her in front of him, using his body to keep her from falling until they’re able to grip the handrail of the stairs.

“Though I walk through the valley of the shadow of the death…”

“Aye, you wanna walk to that valley a bit quicker there, laddie?” Scully unceremoniously asks. She pushes her way past the preacher, or whatever he is, Mulder shortly behind her.

Finally they reach it. Scully stretches out her hands, grabbing hold of the railing and clinging on as tight as she can. Mulder reaches beside her, his body hanging next to hers.

In seconds there’s a ear-splitting snap from below. Scully looks down and at first she wonders if maybe she was imaging it, that in her fear-riddled mind what was happening wasn’t really happening.

But no, what she was seeing was a reality. The ship snapping in half below her.

“Look up, Scully, don’t look down,” Mulder tells her and Scully does just so, looks up to the starlit sky as the ship suddenly becomes vertical. 

Her arms ache to hold her now fully-hanging body up, hands sweaty and slipping against the bars.

“We need to get over the railing,” says Mulder in her ear. “The suction will pull us down.”

He’s right, he’s right, she can feel it happening as they speak.

Mulder goes first, swinging his body over the railing and helping Scully do so. A few others copy but those who just don’t have the strength hang there limply. 

In horror, Scully watches the grip becoming weaker as people begin falling into the icy depths.

She tries to look away but her eyes won’t close, her hand just wraps around Mulder’s, gripping tight.

“It’ll be all right,” she hears Mulder say.

Scully forces herself to look anywhere but below to the watery grave. She moves her eyes to a girl who hangs just beside her. The girl looks straight up at Scully and Scully tries to rack her memory to where she remembers the girl.

Charlie was flirting with her.

She wants to cry but the tears refuse to come. In girl looks to her for help but Scully can’t move, frozen with grief and horror at the nightmare around her and below her.

She wants to wake up. Wake up and this all be a dream. That it’s the day before they board the Titanic and it’s just a dream.

But it isn’t a dream.

This is her reality. 

The girl loses her grip and Scully watches her fall. Watches her fall down to her icy death.

She wills her mind to think logically in this illogical situation. The water approaches and they’re going to be in the sea before they know it, gasping for air just as the people around them are doing.

“We need to breathe in at the right moment,” Scully says to Mulder. She glances a look to him, sees the fear no doubt reflected in her own face.

The water approaches and any moment now…any moment…

“Hey, Scully,” The water bubbles just below them. “This is where we first met.” 

No time for nostalgia, Scully cries, “Now!” as their plunged into ice-cold darkness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Do you realise how hard it was to write that the funnel and Scully simultaneously fall? It was difficult.


	12. Chapter Twelve

Darkness envelopes her. The cold water stabs all nerves in her body over and over again. It feels more painful, more scary than earlier on when she was trying to find a way out.

Nothing anchors her except the feel of Mulder’s hand still grasping hers even as the current and suction tries to pull her down.

Scully kicks and kicks, trying to swim to the surface and in her panic, she feels Mulder’s hand slipping from hers. She grips him tighter, wrapping her other hand securely around his arm and begins to kick upwards.

She breaks to the surface, coughing and inhaling a breath full of icy air as noise returns to her; people screaming, crying, splashing the water. Everywhere she turns there’s just people shouting for help.

She turns, panic swirling through her when she realises Mulder isn’t beside her. Spinning, people blend together as fear rushes through her, everyone looks like Mulder but at the same time they don’t.

“Mulder!” she calls, still frantically looking around her.

Mulder resurfaces, answering her call with Scully’s name, a swimming towards her, grabbing onto her.

“Are you okay?” he asks, pulling her closer to him in a sort of half-hug, though the action isn’t as comforting as it should be. She’s cold, so cold, her breath visible as she breathes out.

Scully shakes her head, no.

“We need to get out of the water,” Mulder says, looking around.

“We’re in the m-m-middle of the At…Atlantic,” Scully stutters, wondering just how he expects them to get out.

Debris from the ship floats all around them, those who have realised their screaming will do nothing fight over waste.

Mulder spots a piece of wood not too far away and begins to swim towards it before anyone else sees it.

“Here,” he says, pushing it towards Scully. “It’ll help.” He holds it in place for her as Scully climbs onto it. Upon further inspection she realises it’s a door and a chill- not caused by the cold- runs through her.

“Wh-wh- what about you?” Scully asks, now situated on the door. Being out of the water helps but she’s still freezing, her fingers turning numb.

“Budge up,” Mulder tells her. “Try to keep your end steady.” Scully does as told, keeping her side of the door as secured as possible on liquid as Mulder hoists himself onto the space she’s left clear. There’s a moment where Scully wonders if the buoyancy will work or will it just tip over. The door rocks, threatening to throw them back into the water but with little movement it stills and they float.

“Just try not to move, okay?” Mulder says and Scully nods. As slowly and as carefully as she can, she shuffles closer to Mulder.

“Cold…” she says trying to find his warmth but he’s just as cold as she is.

His arm wraps around her regardless.

“I know,” he answers, burying his face in her cold, wet hair. “I am, too.” There’s a moment of silence between the two as Scully struggles to get warm, her clothes clinging to her as she shivers, teeth clattering.

“You know,” Mulder speaks, “I heard that the best way to regenerate body heat was to climb into a sleeping bag with somebody would was already naked.” 

Scully smiles, not entirely against the idea; she’d do anything just for warmth right now.

“Maybe we-we’ll get lucky and it-it’ll r-r-rain sleeping bags.” 

“That would be nice,” says Mulder, adjusting himself on the board.

They fall silent again, Scully’s eyes threatening to close and she knows she can’t give into the tiredness she feels. If she shuts her eyes, she’ll fall asleep and she can’t fall asleep right now.

The panic around them as subsided, the screaming has turned to soft crying, the occasional call for help. Scully buries her face into Mulder’s chest, the people may not be screaming any more but their cries are still painful to hear.

“I wish they’d shut up,” Scully says. It’s a selfish thing to wish for, these people can’t help their reactions but it hurts to listen, to not be able to do anything about it, she just wants quiet.

“I know, me too,” Mulder admits.

Silence passes over them once more. Their little refuge floats against the light waves. There’s a brief moment of wonder at how many bodies are floating around them but Scully refuses to look, she doesn’t want to know that horror, maybe if she keeps her eyes to Mulder’s chest that reality won’t be real.

“I don’t regret getting on that ship, Mulder.” She’s trying to keep up the conversations, trying to keep her brain active so she can stay awake and, more importantly, she knows Mulder’s still awake.

“Regardless of all this, I’m so glad Charlie won those tickets.” 

There’s a brief thought to Charlie. Scully wonders just where he went.

“I didn’t want to board the ship,” says Mulder, he’s growing sleepy, his speak slightly slurred, something that concerns Scully but that concern is getting harder and harder to maintain, too sleepy herself. 

“It was taking me back to marry Phoebe, or at least I thought it was, but it wasn’t. It was taking me to you.” 

A shaky hand pushes her hair out of the way, brushes against her face, cold, but she can barely feel it anymore.

“And I’m so glad it did, Scully. I really, really am.” 

“Me too,” Scully says. Then, “Mulder, I’m scared,” she admits.

“Don’t be,” he tells her. “You’re going to survive this, Scully. You’re going to live a long life. You’ll survive this and you’ll be a doctor.”  
Scully shuts her eyes tight, for a second. Right now that doesn’t feel like a reality, the severity of the situation becoming clearer. She’s going to die here, she thinks. Any dreams she had were gone the moment she stepped on this doomed ship. 

“Promise me you’ll survive, Scully,” Mulder’s suddenly saying. “Promise me!” 

She opens her eyes. “I promise.” 

An hour has passed since the Titanic sunk. Or Scully thinks it has. Could be longer, could be less. The sounds around her have quieted, the conversations she fought to have with Mulder died along time ago. It’s quiet now, around her and beside her.

She lays on her back, staring at the sky, the stars glowing though they are more just fuzzy lights, she can’t really see them.

She’s not cold anymore. Something deep within her tells her that she should be worried about that but she’s too numb to care. Soon, not long now, her body will begin to shut down and even that deep feeling will die.

Everything is peaceful. She could be the only person alive right now for all she knows.  
Her gaze stays on the sky that she’s not really looking at. Her eyes are glassy, glazing over as she feels a slight breeze against her face.

Maybe she’s just imagining it. There’s no breeze, she can’t feel anything, yet its there, ruffling her hair. And there’s the sound of shouting in the distance, a voice…

How long have they been building it? she hears a child-like voice ask.

An older voice, a man’s, answers, Couple of years now. Ships take a long time to build.

They stand on a dock across from a shipbuilding yard. In the distance she can see a ship, the framework the only thing that’s currently completed. She sees men clanging pieces of iron together, shouting orders at each other.

The little girl stands on the wood railing, secured in place by her arms resting against the top handrail. An older man stands beside her, and a younger boy, about six, sits on a bench, uninterested in shipbuilding just across from him.

“What are they going to call it?” a little Dana asks.

“I’m not sure. The public don’t tend to know the name until the ships complete. Then it’s announced in the papers,” her father answers.  
The girl rests her chin on her fisted hands, ignoring the way the chipped wood digs into her elbows. 

With as much assertion as an eight-year-old can muster, Dana declares to all, “One day I’m going to ride on a ship as big as that.” 

Her father laughs kindly. “Oh, really?” he asks. “Don’t forget to bring Charlie along with you.”

“I don’t want to go on any stupid ship!” the six-year-old boy exclaims from behind. “I want to stay here and never have to leave.” 

Dana ignores what her younger brother has to say, her eyes fixated on the ship.

The scene begins to fizzle out, replaced by another. The sound of hammering is replaced by the scrape of a pencil against paper, the sound of distant footsteps echoing against floor.

The room is white, light shining in through the big windows, sun streaming in. A girl with dark red wavy hair lays on her stomach on the floor, surrounded by different coloured paints. Scully can’t see what she’s painting from the angle she stands at, just sees the rocking of the girl’s legs, the quiet hum of a song that exits her mouth.  
The girl seems oddly familiar. It’s not Scully but someone close to Scully, someone she has some relation to. 

There’s a sudden need to move, to walk around the girl and get a look of her face. It’s only when Scully tries to do just that, she finds that she can’t move.

She’s startled by the door bursting open. A boy with a mop of dark brown hair that’s too long charges through the door with what looks to be a baseball between his hands.

The boy spies the girl on the floor, aiming the ball up high and shouting, “Hey, Molly…Catch!” 

The girl has no time to react as the boy throws the ball. It misses the girl and knocks into a cup of paint instead, knocking it over, yellowing spilling out onto the floor and onto the drawing.

The girl looks down in shock at the picture, then back at the boy, tears in her eyes as she cries, “You’ve ruined it!” 

The boy, untroubled by what he’s done, only laughs and shrugs. 

“It was probably a shit drawing anyway.”

Molly’s teary eyes widen, “Charlie!” the girl admonishes. “Mommy says you’re not allowed to say that word.”   
But the boy- Charlie- only laughs once more, again unconcerned with any of the consequences.

“Mommy says it all the time,” he says.

But Molly, with all of the answers, only replies, “That’s because she’s a grown-up, she’s allowed to say that word.” 

“Then so should I,” Charlie argues, walking over to Molly and picking up his ball now covered in yellow paint. “Why is it one rule for her and another for us?”

Molly seems to have no answer for that this time.

“What are you two doing?”

The children, and Scully, turn to the doorway. The floor beneath Scully’s feet feels like it’s been pulled from beneath her as she stares in astonishment at the man who stands in front of her.

Mulder.

An older Mulder but Mulder all the same.

“Charlie ruined my drawing!” the girl shouts, picking up her soil picture and running towards Mulder.  
“It was an accident,” Charlie claims.

Mulder kneels down to Molly’s height, holding the picture in his hand as he looks at the damage done.

“It was a surprise for Mommy,” the red-headed girl says, pouting and shuffling her feet. “Now it’s ruined!” Tears appear back in Molly’s eyes.

“Has Charlie apologised?” 

Molly shakes her head.

Mulder looks expectantly to Charlie. The boy only glares back.

“I didn’t mean to do it!” 

“Yes he did,” Molly says, glaring back at her brother. “He said ‘Molly, catch’, and hit the paint.” She points to the split paint still on the floor and Mulder’s eyes follow before returning back to Charlie.

“What do we say, Charlie?”

Charlie, now caught out, can only look sulkily to his sister. “I’m sorry, Molly,” he apologises.  
Accepting his apology, Molly turns back to Mulder. “But I still have nothing to give to Mommy. And that had already taken me two hours!” Scully gets a look at the drawing then. On the page sits a surprisingly good drawing of a Pomeranian running in a field. She sees the collar, the name Queequeg fancily sprawled across a dog tag. Impressive for a girl no older than nine.

Mulder looks at the paint-spoiled drawing then back at the girl. “I’m sure Mummy will love it all the same,” he tells her.

The girl looks sad for a different reason then, “When will Mommy be back, Daddy?”

Scully realises then that Molly and Charlie are Mulder’s children, the boy a miniature version of him, but the girl…

“Soon,” Mulder answers. “Sometimes the hospital needs Mummy longer than what she thinks.” 

“Because she’s very, very clever,” Molly immediately answers.

Mulder smiles, “Yes, even if she doesn’t always think she is.” 

Scully frowns. She looks from the boy to the girl to Mulder, then back again, her eyes continuing this, taking in the sense of familiarity she feels between Charlie and Molly, Mulder being their father, their mother being at the hospital.   
The girl’s red hair that’s been slightly darkened by Mulder’s brown hair. 

Wariness sets in as Scully realises that she is the mother that they speak of. That at some point she and Mulder have a son and a daughter, a dog named Queequeg and Scully works in a hospital. 

Reality is quick is set in.

The scene dissolves. The night sky appears. Tears run down Scully’s face.

Why did her brain that to do that? Why did it have to show her something she’s never to have? 

Something shines against her face. A glimmer of orange she sees out of the corner of her eye. Tearing her gaze away from the sky, Scully turns slowly, all muscles in her neck stiff. Her blurry gaze settles on a lifeboat, a flashlight searching the sea and every so often its shine will land on Scully before moving off again.

Is this another cruel vision, Scully wonders as she watches it go by, the voice muffled. Some more torture her dying body wants to bestow upon her in her final moments?

She shuts her eyes, wanting nothing more than to succumb to the pull. To end all this and just sleep.  
Is anybody out there?

The voice becomes clearer.

Hello!

Maybe…just maybe…it isn’t a vision.

Scully reopens her eyes, turns her head upwards to find the lifeboat still there, a few people seated, rowing it along as a man stands upfront, shouting to the void.

She tugs against Mulder’s hand, now frozen in her grasp.

“Mulder…” she says, her voice croaky from the cold and lack of use.

No response.

“Mulder…” she says a little louder but still nothing.

Sensing something wrong, Scully moves from her laying position, each muscle in her body protesting but Scully ignores it. Leaning against her elbow that fights to keep her up, she places two fingers against Mulder’s pulse. It’s there, beating faintly.  
She looks up to see the lifeboat drifting away. A sudden need to get Mulder to safety overcomes her. At first she tries shouting, a pathetic little ‘Come back…’ that is just above a whisper.

The boat continues to float further away, her only hope of ensuring her and Mulder’s survival wandering away from them.

So she tries another tactic; splashes her arms and her legs against the water. Through the silence it should be heard. And it is. The light shining back onto her face, eyes wincing at the glow. Even as the boat approaches Scully continues to kick, continues to kick until the boat is beside her and she feels arms wrap around her, pulling her from the board.

“Mulder…” she slurs, eyes struggling to stay open.

“We’ve got him,” a woman’s voice tells her. “It’s okay,” the voice reassures. “We’ve got you. You’re safe. You can sleep now.” 

Scully feels weight upon her, layers and layers of thick blankets covering her, fingers brushing through her hair. Safe now, the rope breaks and she begins to drift away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Will = Charlie Jr. I couldn't justify William being called William in this version.


	13. Chapter Thirteen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is it. This is the end. I'm so thankful to everyone who has supported this story, it means so much to me. Thank you for the kudos' and to the comments. If you ever want to contact me Tumblr is your best option. You can find me @muldersfiish over there. Thank you again :)
> 
> Please let me know if you're interested in an epilogue of sorts. A sort of couple of years after this sort of thing. If that's something you'd like to read let me know.

Noise buzzes around her; the clinking of cutlery against china, scraping of chairs as people leave their tables, a quiet chatter. It’s all muffled, however, white noise in the background.

Phoebe stares at the spot on the floor. In her mind, she’s still on that lifeboat watching the ship tip unnaturally towards the sky, people falling into the water, seeing the ship break in half.

She’d wanted to look away but her eyes had stayed glued on the horror in front of her.

Now she can’t get it out of her head.

“Phoebe, you need to eat,” Teena tells her, pushing her food towards her.

“I don’t want to eat,” Phoebe hears herself say, her eyes unmoving from that spot on the floor.

Teena sighs, looking around the dining hall for any sort of help on what to do, finding none.

“Maybe some fresh air will do you good then,” the older woman says, standing up from her chair.

Phoebe returns back to the room, pulling herself away from the memory of the night two days ago, standing up herself.

“Has there been any news on Fox or Father?” Phoebe asks as they climb the steps to the outside deck.

A steward had spent the first day running around, collecting names, making a list of any family members missing. They’d asked about Fox and Bill, too, Phoebe had even remembered to ask after Alex. The steward had just shaken his head, telling them that no such names had been crossed off the list.

“What if he’s dead?” Phoebe had asked, her worry for Fox had kept her up all night and most of the day had been spent looking around for him. Maybe the stewards just hadn’t gotten to him yet.

“You can’t think like that,” Teena had told her every time she asked after Fox. She never let it show but her worry for her son and her husband was overwhelming her too.

A few people sit out on deck. Some children play, others sit close to their families, mourning the loss of those gone. The entirety of Carpathia had a sombre feeling to it, and everyone felt it.

Phoebe spots a steward with a manifest in his hand, talking to a family and instantly has the need to start asking after her family again.

She walks over to the steward, nudging against his arm to gain his attention.

The boy turns, “Can I help you, Miss?”

“Yes, I’m just wondering if you’ve found a Fox Mulder yet?” Anticipation has her biting her nails, a habit she broke a long time ago but the worry and concern has brought it back. 

The boy looks at the paper and Phoebe’s heart sinks when he begins shaking his head. “That name’s not been crossed off yet,” he tells her.

Phoebe thanks him, about to walk away when another name comes to mind. She turns back to the boy, “What about a Dana Scully?” 

Again the steward looks down at the paper, only this time a frown appears across his face.  
“I’m sorry,” he says, “That name’s not on the list at all.”

However confused, Phoebe thanks him again and walks back to Teena. The woman looks at her with a slight hint of hope. 

“Anything?” 

Phoebe shakes her and the hope in Teena’s eyes fade. Maybe he is dead, Phoebe thinks, no longing wanting to lie to herself.

“I asked after Miss Scully, too,” Phoebe continues, still confused about that. “He said that name wasn’t on the list.” 

Teena has no comment on that, only grabs onto Phoebe’s arm.

“Come on,” she says, leading them over to a bench. “Let’s not think about her right now.” 

They tried to keep them separated but it hadn’t worked. People kept to themselves but there were no barriers keeping them from accessing other parts of the ship, no gates that prevented them from going places. People of all classes sat out on the same deck. Nobody really cared, nobody could find the energy to care.

Scully leans against the handrails at the front of the ship, watching the water move below her. It’s strange to think it had almost killed her two nights ago and now it looks quite beautiful with the sunlight bouncing off of it.

She wraps the blanket tighter around herself as the breeze sends a shiver through her. She’s still not fully recovered, still weak, her skin not having fully returned to its natural skin-tone. She had been discouraged by the nurses to go outside but Scully knew if she was to be in that little room for one day more she’d go insane. Besides, she knew her limit, she’ll go back inside soon.

Aside from her paler skin, most of the physical injuries from the cold had subsided. The ice-burns seared into her skin from the handcuffs aren’t as angry, the frostbite she had on her toes not as sore. Physically, she was getting better but internally Scully couldn’t shake the cold, she was tired all the time but couldn’t sleep.

She doesn’t think she’ll ever sleep again.

When she does fall victim to sleep, her dreams are riddled with locked gates, freezing cold water, and screams.

When she isn’t having those dreams, Charlie’s death fills her mind. 

Monica had told her not soon after Scully had reawakened from unconsciousness. It had taken a lot of prodding from Scully but finally the woman came clean.   
It had taken a while to really feel anything, she was just numb at first, numb like she had been lying on the door, having those dreams, but then she left warmth against her cheeks, a tissue being handed to her and before she knew it, she had been silently crying that had turned into full body-wracking sobs of hopelessness. 

“He was trying to free the lifeboat,” Monica told her once Scully’s sobs had quieted down. “He died trying to help people, Dana.”

Scully smiles at that thought and even if it wasn’t true Scully would believe it was.

She also asked after Mulder’s health, too. From what she can remember before she passed out, he had been bad, really bad. 

She still hadn’t seen him. 

Pulling herself from the handrail, Scully wraps the blanket around her, intending on checking on him today.

She finds the hospital bay fairly easy, unlike the Titanic, Carpathia isn’t a labyrinth of hallways that lead off everywhere. It’s simple and simple is what Scully needs right now.

He’s at the far corner of the room, his certain open as one of the nurses tends to him. Scully cautiously approaches, noticing that he’s still asleep, countless of blankets covering him. He looks to be in a worse state than her, his skin still having a bluish tint to it even after two days. It’s a miracle he survived.

“How is he?” Scully asks quietly but her voice still startles the nurse who jumps slightly.

“Do you know him?” the nurse asks.

“He’s a friend,” Scully answers.

The nurse looks down at Mulder, a hint of a smile across her face.

“He’s getting better,” she says, looking back to Scully. “He’s yet to wake but he’s out of the woods for now.”

Out of the sea, Scully morbidly thinks.

“Would you like to sit with him?” the nurses asks. “It might help him to have a familiar voice talking to him.”

Even without the offer, Scully was intending to do that exactly. She approaches closer to the bed and the nurse leaves them. 

Scully sits down on the bed, taking her hand out from beneath her blanket and gently pushes a stray bit of hair off his face.  
“Hey Mulder,” she says unsure of whether or not he can hear her. “We’re safe now. A lifeboat came back for us, they rescued us.” She thinks for a moment of what else to say. There’s a lot to say, a lot happened out in that sea, but she needs him to be awake for it. “We’ve got a lot to talk about now and I need you to be awake for that.” She pulls her body down to his, places her lips against his forehead, far enough away to still be able to speak. “Can you do that for me?” she whispers, pressing her lips to his still cold skin.

She moves away after a moment, looks down to find his eyes still shut. What else was she expecting? Words alone can’t will a person back to consciousness.

She sits up, looking around the room. A few other nurses linger about, caring for their patients as best they can. It’s a job she wanted once but now, after everything, she isn’t so sure if live bodies is really something she wants to tend to anymore.

Taking her blanket off, she stands from the bed, moving the certain across the rail and shutting them into a tiny space of white. Away from any prying eyes, Scully pulls back the covers and climbs into the space left over by Mulder. She snuggles into the warmth radiating from inside the blankets, lays her head against Mulder’s chest, hearing his faint heartbeat and feeling the raise of his chest. She shuts her eyes, comforting herself with hearing and feeling the life surge through his body.

Wake up soon, Mulder, she prays. 

He’s warm, so incredibly warm. It’s the first thing he feels as he wakes. Then there’s a heaviness to the side of him that’s also warm and Mulder doesn’t want to open his eyes.

Is he dead? Is this where he finds out Heaven is real and that it’s a very warm place. Maybe they got Heaven and Hell mixed up, maybe Heaven is really warm and Hell is really cold.

Cold.

Mulder doesn’t want to think of cold.

He swallows and finds his throat extremely dry. Does water not exist in Heaven?

He slowly opens his eyes and finds himself momentarily blinded by light.

After a few blinks, his eyes adjust and as he surveys his surroundings he finds that he is in an entirely white room. White walls, white curtains, white linen.

Maybe he is in Heaven after all.

And there’s still a warm heaviness against him.  
Mulder looks down to the side of him. At first he just sees red and it takes him a moment to figure out who it is that sleeps beside him but happiness spreads through him when he realises who it is.

Scully!

Alive and warm and drooling against his arm next to him.

He wonders how long she’s been out for. Then wonders how long he’s been out for. A while, he thinks. The last thing he can remember was cold, cold and people screaming, and cold, and people shouting, and cold, and cold, and cold.

But now he doesn’t have to think about any of that. This room is quiet and this room is warm and…Where even is this room?

Scully will know. From the way she’s positioned, nobody placed her in this bed with him. She came here on her accord.

He takes his hand, finding it to be incredibly stiff and sore (guess cold will do that) out from beneath the blankets and bops Scully on the nose with a finger.

She pulls a face, scrunching her nose up in response, but it does the trick, she wakes from her slumber, stretching and yawning before her eyes even open and when they do she gives him a sleepy look and he knows he’s smiling down at her with a stupid teeth-showing grin but he’s just so happy that she’s alive and awake next to him.

And then she realises he’s alive and awake next to her.

Her eyes widen before she pounces on him, a cry of Mulder! as her hands land on his face and she’s kissing him and crying against him and it takes a second for his brain to catch up.

Once it has, he breaks the kiss, pulling away from her.

“Hey,” he says, still with that cheesy grin across his face.

“You’re alive,” she says, sitting up and pulling him with her. “You’re really alive.” 

His body protests at the speed in which Scully sits him up but he doesn’t care, just buries his face into her neck finding her to be warm and dry in what feels like a very long time.

“So are you,” he says, muffled against her skin.

They stay like that for a long time, just basking in the comfort that the other is alive and well. 

He pulls away first, grasping hold of her hands and surprised to see a lack of handcuffs on there.

“No more handcuffs,” he says.

Scully shakes her head. “They must have took them off when I was asleep.”

Mulder nods, pushing her sleeve up. He sees the faint presence of a red mark and gently runs his finger over it.

“What happened?”

“Ice burns,” she tells him. “the handcuffs did it.” 

He takes her arm and brings her wrist to his lips, kissing the burn marks. 

“The other too?”

She nods and he does the same thing to that one, too before placing them back down.

“How long we’re you out for?” he asks.

“A day. I woke up last night.” 

“How long was I out for?” 

“Two days.”

Two days. It’s been two days since Titanic sank.

“Have you seen anyone else?” 

Scully shakes her head. “Just kept to myself. I didn’t know what I’d say if I saw them.”

Mulder nods. He was curious about his family to say the least. There was no doubt in his mind that his mother and Phoebe had gotten away but he wondered what had become of his father and Krycek.

“Where are we?” Mulder asks.

“On the Carpathia. They tried to get to us as quickly as they could…”

But it hadn’t been quick enough. 

“Do you know how many survived?” 

Scully shakes her head. “Everyone’s dotted about. They’re running around with a manifest trying to figure out who’s survived.” He sees her thinking then. “Mulder…my name isn’t on that list, it wasn’t my ticket, all my papers are down at the bottom of the Atlantic. I’m going to get to New York and they’re just going to turn me away.” 

He thinks on that for a moment. The Carpathia will do just as Titanic had set out to do, it’ll stop at Ellis Island and Scully won’t get any further than that.

“Maybe they’ll understand,” he says. Word has to have gotten around by now. The Unsinkable Ship as Sunk; It broke in half and sank all the way down to the bottom of the sea, it’ll say. They have to understand.

“Maybe…” She gulps then and Mulder knows there’s more on her mind.

“Scully,” he prods. “What is it?” 

She unlinks their hands and begins knotting her fingers together. He can see the water beginning to fill up there, the way her eyes dart around the room.

“Charlie…” she begins and Mulder finds himself gulping. “Charlie…he…” the tears begin to spill out and Mulder feels his heart drop to his stomach. He knows what she’s trying to say.

“I’m so sorry, Scully,” he says, gathering her up in his arms and bringing her to his chest. He peppers the crown of her head with kisses, a string of apologies exiting it mouth.

Charlie is dead. 

Charlie, the child who was denied access onto a lifeboat. Charlie, who he promised Scully he would get him onto another lifeboat. Charlie, who he forgot about the moment Scully jumped off her own lifeboat.

Charlie, who he unintentionally killed.

“I’m so sorry, Scully,” he says again, tears spilling from his own eyes. “I’m so, so, sorry. It’s my fault…”

She pulls away from him and even through her tears, she’s frowning at him. “Why it is your fault?”

“I promised you I’d get him onto a lifeboat,” he says. “I promised you but then I forgot about him.” 

She pulls him into her then, comforting him when it should be the other way around and he cries harder.

“Shh,” she hushes him. “I don’t blame you, Mulder. He was trying to free the last lifeboat. He was trying to save others before himself.” 

He lets that information sink in. Imagines the boy climbing the ropes and furiously trying to cut them even as the water had finally slipped onto the top decks. 

It calms him down.

The sound of the curtains being pulled open catches his attention. A nurse stands there.

“You’re awake,” she says happily. In her hand she holds a piece of paper. “I’d like your names, please,” she tells them. “We’re trying to gather a list of survivors.” 

Mulder is stunned for a moment. His name. What is his name? He looks to Scully. If he says his name is Fox Mulder, he’ll lose Scully, will have to disembark the Carpathia with Phoebe and his family. No, his mind is still made up; when this ship docks, she’s getting off with Scully regardless of any lack of proper identification.

He’s about to say a name off the top of his head before Scully beats him to it.

“Leif and Ingrid Brevik,” she says.

The nurse looks between the two and Mulder smiles, Scully had done nothing to mask her Irish accent with her clearly non-Irish surname. The nurse shrugs regardless, searching the list of names to find those names and smiles when she does. 

“Thank you. I’ll be back to check on you shortly,” she says but Mulder is quick is jump in.

“That won’t be necessary,” he says, reaching out to hold Scully’s hand. “Ingrid can do that, she’s a doctor back in…” he thinks for a second of where ‘back in’ is. “Home,” he decides.

“Right,” the nurse says, looking warily to Scully. “In any case, I’ll need to take a look at you myself.” She leaves then, shutting the curtain behind her.

“Brevik?” Mulder asks, wondering where she got the name from.

“It was the name on mine and Charlie’s ticket.”

It sinks in then what she’s doing. An Oh escapes him.

“Are you sure, Scully?” Knowing what switching the names mean to her.  
Scully nods, then looks up at him, her eyes hardened. “Fox Mulder died on the 14th of April, 1912, aged fifteen, trying to save the lives of others.” 

Mulder nods, still holding her hand and strokes his thumb across her knuckles, gives her a soft smile. Then thinks for a moment, eyebrows frowning as he watches his thumb.

“If we ever have a son, Scully,” he says, then looks up at her. “I want to call him Charlie, after your brother.” 

Something flickers across her eyes then, almost a recognition of sorts. It’s gone as soon as it was there.

“What if it’s a girl we have?” she asks, adjusting herself to straddle his legs.

“Charlotte?” he answers imploringly.

He watches her think for a second, before a smile appears on her face.

“Molly,” she says.

“Molly?” he asks, curious as to why that name.

“After my mother,” Scully answers.

“Molly…” he says, trying to name out. He likes it.

“Charlie and Molly,” Scully says more to herself then to him but Mulder begins imaging the children all the same; a boy who looks slightly more like him and a younger girl with identical hair to Scully. He smiles at the image.

They spend the rest of the journey in a modest room tucked at the back of the ship. They don’t sleep much during the nights, instead sit up and tell each other childhood stories, spend the last two days getting to really know each other without any interruptions. Mulder tells her of stories of Samantha and in turn she tells him stories of growing up with three other siblings, of always feeling like she was in her older sister’s shadow. They talk about Charlie- at Mulder’s encouragement- about how initially he never wanted to leave home until one day he was hinting towards it and Scully had been nominated to look after him.

She falls sad after that last part, laments to him that she’ll have to send a letter home and tell her mother that Charlie’s dead. Mulder pushes them away from talk of Charlie, they discuss their plans of what to do once they get to New York, have a plan of action since they’ll have to start from the bottom with virtually no money to their name.

But for the first time since Titanic hit the iceberg, since before even stepping onto the ship, Mulder imagines a life in which he can be happy, can be free to do as he pleases without any consequence, and he gets to do it all with Scully. 

Perhaps a selfish thought but he’d step back onto that ship and do it all again if he always got to be with Scully every time.


End file.
